


Kitchen Boy

by GirlMeetsMusic



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 28,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13647057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlMeetsMusic/pseuds/GirlMeetsMusic
Summary: In 1907, after a ball, the Grand Duchess Anastasia wanders into the kitchen, where she meets the kitchen boy. Over time, they become friends. Though he is ridiculed and sometimes beaten, he finds that he enjoys his life in the palace more than he previously thought.----Basically an AU where Anastasia survives with her memories. Sort of based on the 1997 movie.





	1. Unexpected

In 1907, Dmitry Sudayev considered himself as grateful, but unlucky. He was the only kitchen boy in the Peterhof Palace, home to the Imperial family. Chef Phlegmenkoff was not a kind man in any way. Dmitry sometimes thought about running away, just to escape the horrible man that had allowed him to work at the palace. 

Dmitry wasn't so sure the Tsar even knew he was there. 

One particular evening -- the night the Dowager Empress Maria was leaving Russia -- Dmitry stood in the kitchen after the ball washing the dishes. He had received a beating from Chef Phlegmenkoff and had been threatened to be sent to the man's sister's orphanage again. Dmitry had cowered in the corner, as he always did, and had waited until the Chef went out to do his duties. 

After scrubbing a plate, he set it on the counter. He didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear it shut either. What he did hear was the stool he sometimes used scraping across the floor. 

"Hey!" Dmitry exclaimed, turning quickly. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Your Highness." 

Dmitry hurriedly bowed. The Grand Duchess looked at him curiously, hopping off of the stool, a glass in her hands. She got in the icebox and got the milk, pouring some of it into her glass. After putting the milk back, she grabbed her glass and moved closer to Dmitry. 

"Who are you?" she asked. 

"Dmitry," he responded quickly. 

"I'm Anastasia. You don't have to bow to me... as long as you don't tell Mama or anyone I come down here," Anastasia smiled. She sipped her milk, her emerald irises never leaving his face. 

"Seems fair enough," Dmitry shrugged, going back to the pile of dishes in the sink. 

"What are you doing?" Anastasia craned her neck, trying to see what he was doing. 

"Washing the dishes." 

"Can I help?" 

Dmitry turned his head toward her, his hazel eyes widened in either shock or disbelief. Which it was, she wasn't sure, but she knew it was one of the two. 

"Um... I-I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I mean, Chef Phlegmenkoff is angry with me already and I don't want to make it worse," he blurted. 

"We won't get caught. He's already left, hasn't he?" Anastasia raised a brow. Dmitry dumbly nodded.  "Well, you see? We won't get caught!" 

"Well... alright. C'mere," Dmitry muttered. Anya set her glass on the counter and nearly fell when stepping closer to Dmitry. Dmitry managed to catch her before she fell, though, which was relieving. 

She stood upright and laughed quietly, watching him as he scrubbed a plate. Dmitry stepped aside, letting her step up to the sink. He stood behind her, placing his hands over hers, helping her wash the dish. Anastasia giggled with glee after she set it on the counter. Dmitry grabbed another cloth, standing beside her and washing the dishes. 

* * *

 

Dmitry huffed as he picked up a stack of plates, kicking the stool to the right place before standing on it. He opened the cabinet door with a single hand (which proved to be difficult while holding plates). Dmitry carefully slid the stack of plates into the cabinet, closing the door after he did so. 

He looked back at Anastasia and smiled. The Grand Duchess was right. They hadn't been caught. Well, at least they hadn't been caught while washing the mountain of dishes. 

"Thank you for helping. I would've been here 'til sunrise without your help," he laughed. Anastasia laughed as well. Dmitry moved to lean against the counter, watching the Grand Duchess as she straightened her light pink nightgown. 

Anastasia yelped when the back door crashed open. Dmitry jumped, grabbing Anastasia's arm. 

"Get!" he hissed, pushing her toward the door. Anastasia hurried out to the hall, closing the door and standing outside of it. She flinched when there was a loud crash. 

It was when Dmitry started shouting at Chef Phlegmenkoff she ran. Anastasia wasn't so sure she wanted to know what he was shouting about. She slipped into her father's study and heaved a sigh. 

* * *

Anastasia entered the kitchen early the next morning. Dmitry's appearance had changed. 

"Oh my, Dmitry," she whispered, startling him. Dmitry gulped. "What happened?" 

"Nothing," he lied, grabbing the plates the Imperial family used at breakfast. "Come on, you might as well follow me. Although, I'll be in a lot of trouble if I get caught talking to you." 

Anastasia's brows furrowed as she followed him out to the dining room. Dmitry started to set the table. Anastasia glanced at the doorway, then stepped closer to him. The two talked about a lot of things, the most common topic being why Anastasia came down to the kitchen. Sometimes, it was simply because she wanted a glass of water or a glass of milk, other times it was to see if anyone was in the kitchen. Someone she could talk to. And she had found someone close to her age that she could talk to. 

Dmitry finished setting the table, listening to Anastasia talk about her little brother, Alexei. He had heard rumors that the boy had some sort of ailment, and he found that to be true when Anastasia told him Alexei had hemophilia. 

"Anastasia!" 

The children whipped their heads toward the doorway, where the Tsar stood. 

"I've told you not to tell anyone about that," the man sighed. Dmitry pulled out the Tsar's chair. "Thank you, boy." Dmitry nodded and bowed to both of them before scurrying out of the room. 

"Have you ever met Dmitry, Papa?" Anastasia inquired, taking the fact that no one else was there to her advantage. She sat in the chair to her father's left, the chair Olga would certainly claim was hers. Not that Anastasia cared. 

"I can't say I have," the Tsar spoke, unfolding the paper. Anastasia seemed to pout. Dmitry returned with a cup of tea for the Tsar. He then left again, bumping into Tatiana. He landed on the floor. 

Dmitry clambered to his feet and apologized, bowing to her. She had laughed and waved it off. Dmitry allowed the other members of the Imperial family to enter the room before rushing to the kitchen. He rummaged through the cabinets, trying to find a tray. He found a silver one and set it on the counter. 

Dmitry poured five cups of tea, getting hot water with lemon for Anastasia, as she despised the taste of tea. He was thankful he could remember that. He went back to the dining room. 

"I apologize for the delay, Your Highness. I'm the only one here," Dmitry explained hastily while placing Anastasia's cup in front of her. The Tsar raised a brow. "Chef Phlegmenkoff said something about one of the others would stay to help, but everyone left." At that, the Tsarina rolled her eyes. 

Dmitry finished serving the family their tea and hurried back to the kitchen. He yelped when he burned his hand. He'd have to ice that as soon as he finished. Once he had served the Imperial family their breakfast, he had gone back to the kitchen, placing an ice cube on his hand. 

He seemed to numb it, his hand wrapped around the ice cube, keeping it in place. He held his hand over the sink, releasing the ice cube. He sighed as he went back to the dining room. 

"Is there anything you need, Your Highness?" Dmitry inquired, bowing after entering. 

"No, no, not at all," the Tsar smiled kindly at the kitchen boy. Dmitry nodded and bowed again before leaving.

* * *

**_1915_ **

"Dima! Dima, I can't sleep," Anastasia whined, hopping up on the counter and sitting on it. 

"You poor thing," Dmitry remarked, putting the last of the dishes away. Anastasia pouted. Dmitry shut the cabinet door and turned to face her. "What's that look for?" 

He leaned against the counter, watching her as she hopped down and bounded up to him. She wrapped her arms around him, putting her head on his chest. Dmitry wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest. 

Dmitry twirled a lock of her strawberry blonde hair around his finger, looking down at the fifteen-year-old Grand Duchess. She sniffed and he knew she was crying. 

"What's the matter, Nastya?" Dmitry questioned. Anastasia kept crying, sniffing. 

"I don't know," she muttered. "I haven't slept for three days." 

"Why?" Dmitry placed his head on top of hers. 

"I don't know!" she cried, a sob escaping her lips. Dmitry tried to hush her, stroking her hair. Anastasia tightened her arms around him, her chest bouncing up and down as she cried. 

"Shh... shh, it's alright, Nastya." 

Anastasia kept her arms wrapped around him tightly. 

"Anastasia?" 

Dmitry's eyes widened. Either Anastasia didn't hear the Tsar or she simply didn't care, for she stayed where she was at. 

"Anastasia?" He rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. He sighed when he saw her clinging to Dmitry, crying. Anastasia sobbed into Dmitry's shirt. Dmitry glanced at the Tsar and warily smiled. 

"Why don't you sleep?" Dmitry murmured softly. 

"B-be-because I  _can't,_ " Anastasia sobbed. "I try and I try, but I can't!" 

Dmitry rubbed her back soothingly, trying to calm her down. She sniffled and took deep breaths. The Tsar watched the two of them curiously. 

"Hey, hey, it's alright. Calm down." 

The Tsar stepped closer to them. Anastasia lifted her head, turning her head toward her father. She put her head against Dmitry's chest again, wiping her tears. Anastasia could hear Dmitry's heart pounding. She closed her eyes, going to a deadweight. Dmitry wrapped his arms around her tightly, keeping her upright. 

The Tsar sighed, "Take her to her room. I'll send for the doctor." 

Dmitry nodded and lifted her, carrying her out of the kitchen. He walked down the hallway, earning several confused, bewildered, and disapproving looks from the other servants. He hurried up the stairs, turning to the right and walking down to the third door. He opened it and stepped inside, placing her on her bed. 

He covered her with her blanket, then moved to leave. Her hand grabbed his wrist. Dmitry turned and looked at her, his brows furrowed. 

"Stay," she murmured. "I don't want to be alone." 

Dmitry sighed and nodded. Anastasia scooted over, patting the spot next to her. Dmitry sat down, Anastasia murmuring something inaudible. She turned her head toward him, her tired eyes scanning his face. 

"It's alright, Nastya. You get some sleep. I'll stay right here, I promise." 

* * *

 

Dmitry glanced to the doorway of Anastasia's room once the door opened. The Tsar and the doctor entered, both chatting quietly. Anastasia had moved to where she laid with her head on Dmitry's chest, him playing with her hair. 

Anastasia groaned in her sleep, shifting slightly. Dmitry looked down at her, running his fingers through her hair. The Tsar chuckled and shook his head when he saw the two of them. Dmitry turned his attention back to the Tsar. 

The doctor had immediately started to work. The Tsar and Dmitry spoke quietly, just so they wouldn't wake the sleeping Grand Duchess. The Tsar grabbed the chair from Anastasia's desk, sitting beside the bed. 

"She's just exhausted. Seems she hasn't slept for a while, all she needs is rest," the doctor said after a few moments. The Tsar nodded. 

Anastasia shifted again, this time wrapping her arms around the kitchen boy's torso. Dmitry couldn't stop the chuckle that was emitted from his lips. The Tsar told him he could stay with Anastasia, just so she wouldn't wake up and cause terror all over the palace, and left the room. Dmitry leaned his head back against the headboard, sighing. He knew he would most certainly be in a lot of trouble once Chef Phlegmenkoff found out he wasn't in the kitchen, but Dmitry had to do as the Tsar said. And the Tsar had told him to carry his youngest daughter to her room, only to have her tell him to stay. He couldn't disobey the Imperial family. 

Dmitry fell asleep soon after the Tsar left. He was awakened by Anastasia's giggle. 

"Dima, I want to ask you something," she spoke the second she realized he was awake. 

"What?" Dmitry muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

"Do you want to come to a ball?" 


	2. A Ball

Dmitry blinked. Surely he hadn’t heard her right. Anastasia had sat up, getting on her knees. She bounced up and down while waiting for an answer. 

“I don’t know, Nastya. I mean, I am a  _kitchen boy,_ after all, and you’re a Grand Duchess and that’s just not normal,” Dmitry rambled. He could see the hurt flash through her eyes.

“…But I guess this once wouldn’t hurt,” he hesitantly added. 

Anastasia squealed and threw her arms around his neck. Dmitry was taken aback but laughed and hugged her. Anastasia retracted her arms, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I've got work to do." 

* * *

 

"Dmitry?" Anastasia stomped into the kitchen. 

"Huh?" Dmitry was on the floor, searching through a cabinet. 

"What in Russia are you doing?" 

Dmitry stood up, being sure to keep his face hidden. He held up a tray and set it on the counter. He went and got a saucer and a teacup, setting them on the tray before grabbing the whistling teapot. 

" _KATYA!_ " 

A young woman scurried into the kitchen and grabbed the tray, shooting a disapproving look at Dmitry when she saw Anastasia. Dmitry shrugged before grabbing a knife and going to the other side of the kitchen, where he chopped a tomato. She left the kitchen, leaving the Grand Duchess and kitchen boy alone. 

Anastasia stood by Dmitry's side, craning her neck to watch him. He put the chopped tomato in a pot before grabbing another. 

"What's the matter?" Anastasia inquired. It was odd when Dmitry didn't look at her. 

"Nothing, why?" Dmitry responded, still refusing to look at her. 

"You won't look at me." 

He sighed. How was he supposed to hide the fact Chef Phlegmenkoff still beat him if she was so inquisitive? Dmitry shrugged and went back to what he was doing. Anastasia leaned against the counter. Dmitry yelped when he nicked his wrist with the knife. He turned and put the knife in the sink, huffing in frustration. 

Anastasia had already grabbed a chair, standing on it to get the bandage in the cabinet she couldn't reach. She hopped down and grabbed a clean cloth, wetting it with cold water before grabbing his wrist. She cleaned the blood off of his pale skin before wrapping the bandage around it. She secured it with the metal clasp and looked up at him. Anastasia couldn't understand why he wouldn't look at her. He had told her Chef Phlegmenkoff had stopped hitting him years ago. 

Anastasia moved to where she stood in front of him. Dmitry had his head lowered, the hazy light in the room casting shadows on the part of his face she could see. Anastasia flipped the light switch and lifted his chin. She gasped, seeing his lip was split and his right eye blackened. 

"I thought--" 

"He was really angry. I'm fine, really," he told her, forcing a smile. Anastasia hugged him tightly. 

"That's no excuse." 

"I'm fine, Nastya. I'm used to it, let it be." 

* * *

 

"Papa!" 

The Tsar turned his head toward his youngest daughter and chuckled. Anastasia bounded up to him and hugged him tightly. 

"Papa, do you mind if Dmitry comes to the ball?" 

"Not at all," he laughed. Anastasia grinned and kissed her father's cheek. 

"I'll see you this evening, Papa!" 

* * *

 

"I'm going to kill you." 

Anastasia laughed heartily. Tatiana glared at her and threw a heeled shoe at her. Anastasia dodged it easily while running out of the room. She bumped into Dmitry, knocking the both of them down to the floor. She heard a crash and watched Dmitry flinch. 

"Sorry." 

"It's alright," he sighed. "How about you explain to your mother why her afternoon tea is going to be late while I clean this up?" 

Anastasia nodded and scrambled to her feet, hurrying down the hall, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Dmitry. 

* * *

 

Dmitry glanced up when Anastasia entered the kitchen, dressed in a blue ballgown. 

"What?" he questioned, his brows furrowed. 

"Get dressed," she said, handing him a folded suit. "You're going to the ball tonight, remember?" 

Dmitry sighed and went in the back room, changing. He couldn't exactly disobey her wishes. He was only a servant. She was a Grand Duchess. Dmitry pulled the coat on and stepped out, scratching the back of his neck. Anastasia grinned. She took his hand and led him to the ballroom. 

Dmitry gulped. He'd never seen so many Russian aristocrats in a single room in his entire life. Anastasia held his hand and led him through the crowded room. She stepped out of the ballroom, smiling up at him. 

"Let's dance." 

"I can't dance," Dmitry spoke hurriedly. 

"No one's going to come out here. Let's dance, Dima. Please?" 

“One dance, Nastya.” 

Anastasia smiled at him. She kept their fingers entwined, putting his free hand on her waist. She led the dance at first, just to help him get the hang of it, then allowed him to lead it. Dmitry allowed his gaze to meet hers, smiling at her. He spun her around, then pulled her close to him again. 

Once the dance ended, Anastasia pulled him back inside. Dmitry looked extremely nervous. Anastasia squeezed his hand gently, an attempt to reassure him that everything was alright. He glanced at her and smiled warily at her. Anya led him over to her father and giggled. 

Dmitry was quietly protesting until they got within fifteen feet of the Tsar. Dmitry gulped. Anastasia pulled Dmitry up to her side, the two of them walking over to the Tsar. The Tsar smiled at the two of them, greeting them joyously. 

Anastasia let go of Dmitry’s hand and hugged her father tightly. Dmitry bowed to the Tsar, being sure to remember his manners. He might have been a penniless kitchen boy, but he did have manners. That was the one thing his father had taught him. 

Dmitry looked to the doorway, blinking when he saw Chef Phlegmenkoff standing there. Dmitry swiftly turned his head and shifted to where the harsh man wouldn't be able to see his face. Anastasia and the Tsar gave him an odd, bewildered look. Dmitry slightly tilted his head back in a gesture. Anastasia looked up, muttering, "Oh." 

Dmitry hoped and prayed that he didn't see him. Much to his regret, he had. Dmitry flinched when Phlegmenkoff clasped his hand firmly on his shoulder. 

"In the kitchen.  _Now._ " 

* * *

 

Anastasia tiptoed down the hallway, glancing in both directions before creeping down the stairs. She went directly to the kitchen, flicking on the light switch. 

"Oh, Dima, I'm so sorry," Anastasia whispered. Dmitry shook his head and shrugged. It wasn't her fault. 

"It's not your fault," he shrugged. 

"But--" 

"It's not your fault," Dmitry repeated. Anastasia inched closer to him. 

Dmitry watched her intently. The young Grand Duchess pushed his bangs off of his forehead, revealing a nasty purple bruise. He winced when her fingertips grazed over it gently. She turned his face to the left, then to the right. She felt horrible and guilty. 

She wrapped her arms around him, only to have him yelp and back away. 

"I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. "I didn't--" 

"Hey, it's alright. You had no way of knowing, Nastya," Dmitry assured her. Anastasia shook her head ever so slightly. Dmitry sighed before kissing the crown of her head. Anastasia let out a quiet laugh. She crossed her arms over her chest and swung back and forth, causing the skirt of her nightgown to sway with her.  

Dmitry sat down, Anastasia sitting in the chair beside him. 

"Are you alright?" she queried. Dmitry nodded in response. She entwined their fingers, not meeting his eyes. She wouldn't even look at his face. Instead, she rubbed the back of his hand. Dmitry sighed and watched her trace designs on the back of his hand with her fingertips. 

Anastasia yawned, which made Dmitry laugh. He stood up and kissed her cheek. 

"Get some sleep, Your Highness. You need it." 

Anastasia stuck her tongue out of him, standing and gently pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

"Sleep well, Dima." 

He nodded, watching her as she sauntered out of the kitchen. He smiled slightly and turned the lights off. Dmitry went to the back room, laying down on his uncomfortable bed. He shifted a few times in an attempt to get comfortable before closing his eyes, drifting off to a restless sleep. 


	3. Tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so here's a warning that this one's depressing. I promise the next chapter won't be depressing.

_**1917** _

Dmitry quirked a brow when he glanced up and saw Anastasia. 

“Careful, Nastya.” 

Anastasia came up to him, hugging him tightly. Dmitry returned the hug. 

“Why are you so tense?” he whispered, rubbing her shoulder blades and back. 

“I dunno,” Anastasia muttered. Dmitry glanced around, just to make sure no one was nearby. He grabbed a spoon and grabbed a bowl from the counter. 

“Try this.” 

“What is it?” 

“Icing,” he laughed. Anastasia took the spoon from him. After eating the sugary icing, she tossed the spoon in the sink. And actually got it in the sink. Dmitry set the bowl back on that counter. 

“That’s _really_ good,” Anastasia proclaimed. “If Mama finds out I ate the icing, I’m going to be murdered.” 

“It’s our little secret,” Dmitry chuckled. “Besides that, I have no one else here to make sure it tastes good.” 

Anastasia raised her brows and nodded. She pursed her lips and leaned against the counter. Dmitry swiftly kissed her cheek before pulling a cake out of the oven. Anastasia watched him curiously and intently. Of all the things she had seen Dmitry do, she’d never seen him ice a cake. She had, however, been present (and also the reason) when Dmitry was so startled he ended up dropping a three-tier cake in the middle of the kitchen floor. That earned him a good beating and Anastasia a good scolding. 

When she started to laugh at the memory (they both found it humorous  _after_ the beating and scolding), Dmitry glanced at her. He shook his head and sighed. Anastasia grinned innocently. Dmitry quietly laughed while grabbing the bowl filled with icing. 

"Can I help?" Dmitry nodded. 

* * *

 

"Dima!" 

A hysterical Grand Duchess ran into the kitchen using the back door. Dmitry looked at her in confusion. 

"Dima, Dima, we're all gonna die!" 

Realization hit him. He closed the door to the kitchen and locked it before moving a table, chairs, and whatever he could find in front of the door. 

"Get in the back room, there's an old dress back there. Change as quickly as you can," Dmitry instructed, being sure to keep his voice steady and calm. Anastasia did as she was told. She kicked off her heeled shoes, stuffing them and her dress under the bed in the room. Anastasia hurried back to Dmitry. 

"Calm down, Nastya. I need you to listen to me, alright? If anyone asks, your name is Anya. You're an orphan that got the name at the orphanage." Anastasia nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Tell me what's wrong. But hurry." 

"A-Alexei," she sobbed. "They killed him!" Dmitry wrapped his arms around her tightly. There was a gunshot right outside the door. Anastasia screamed and clung to Dmitry. Dmitry glanced around, knowing there was no possible way for them to run without getting caught. And if they were caught running, they would be shot. He flinched when the soldiers managed to bust the door open. 

Anastasia whimpered in fear. Dmitry felt something hit the back of his skull. He groaned and fell unconscious. Anastasia seemed to be paralyzed. She couldn't move. She was hit roughly -- but not as hard as Dmitry -- on the back of her head. 

* * *

 

Anastasia groaned as she came to. Her head was pounding. She slowly climbed to her feet, going out of the kitchen and looking around. When she got to the ballroom, she screamed. 

The scream awoke Dmitry, who ignored his aching head as he ran to find her. 

"Oh my God," were the only words he could muster to say. Dmitry gently touched her shoulder. She jumped as though she had been shot, looking up at him. He picked her up and carried her back to the kitchen. He carried her out the back door, glancing around to make sure no Bolshevik soldiers were near. 

Dmitry sprinted across the courtyard, slipping through the gate and rushing down the streets. He knew Anastasia wasn't used to the streets, but she'd have to learn to survive for a few days. They had to lay low, especially since the Bolsheviks had yet to retrieve the bodies of those they had murdered. Dmitry slipped onto the bank by the river, ducking to get under the bridge. It wasn't the warmest of places but it would have to do. 

He sat down, still holding Anastasia. She sat on his lap, her head on his shoulder, her forehead pressed against his neck. He rubbed her arm in an attempt to comfort her. Anastasia only cried. Dmitry held her close, trying to get her to calm down. It wouldn't do either of them any good if a Bolshevik showed up. He murmured comforting phrases in her ear, though nothing seemed to help. 

Anastasia whimpered, clinging to Dmitry as though her life depended on it. And in that moment, it did. Anastasia sniffled, trying to calm down. Her eyes burned and yet tears still flowed steadily down her cheeks. Dmitry kissed her forehead. Anastasia looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot. 

"What are we going to do?" she whimpered. 

"We're going to survive out here for a few days. And then we'll find a place to stay. I promise," Dmitry whispered. 


	4. Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a double update. Hope you like this one!

A few days later, Dmitry had gone out to get some food. However, he had overheard a lot of commotion in an alleyway not too far away from where he was. Dmitry snuck around the back to see what was going on. A Bolshevik firing squad had a man standing there, blindfolded. Dmitry ran and knocked the man out of the way as they started to fire. 

He untied the blindfold. Dmitry scrambled to his feet, pulling the man up. He dragged the man down several alleys, taking several turns to confuse the Bolsheviks that were chasing them. 

Dmitry huffed a sigh of relief once they had lost them. Dmitry looked at the man’s face. 

“Why are they trying to kill you?” Dmitry asked, leaning against a brick wall to catch his breath. 

“I’m a Count,” he shrugged. Dmitry snapped his fingers. 

“Count Popov, right?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed. “I think ‘Vladimir’ or ‘Vlad’ would be safer now, though.” Dmitry nodded slowly. “Thank you, by the way.” 

“Think nothing of it,” Dmitry forced a smile. “I don’t suppose they graciously kicked you out of your home, did they?” 

“Indeed they did,” Vlad sighed. 

“Well, I can’t offer much, but I’ve been staying under the bridge with someone you might know,” Dmitry muttered quietly. Vlad raised a brow. “I’m heading back there as soon as I manage to get a loaf of bread. You’re welcome to tag along.” 

Vlad nodded his thanks. Dmitry walked out of the alleyway, Vlad behind him. Dmitry slowly crept up to the baker’s stall, grabbing a loaf of bread. He ran toward the bridge. Vlad shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he ran too, in fear that the Bolsheviks would catch him. 

When Dmitry arrived at the bridge, he cried out when his foot slipped. He slid down the small hill on his back. A sound he hadn’t heard for days emitted from Anastasia’s lips. Her laugh. Dmitry sat up and handed the loaf of bread to her. 

Dmitry crawled under the bridge, glancing up to see if Vlad was behind him. Vlad came into his line of sight a moment later. Vlad carefully climbed down to the bank, walking over to the bridge and ducking to get underneath it. 

Anastasia tensed beside Dmitry. Dmitry turned and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned against him. Anastasia broke the bread in half, looking up at Vlad nervously. 

Dmitry broke his half of the bread in half, handing part of it to Vlad. Vlad thanked him, his brows furrowing as he looked at Anastasia. 

“Anastasia,” he whispered. 

“Oh, it’s just Vladdy,” she let out a sigh of relief. Vlad chuckled and sat down, observing her. Her eyes had become dull, her skin was stained with dirt, her hair had started to knot and tangle. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose was pink. Anya licked her chapped lips, taking a bite of the bread. 

A loud _bang_ made both her and Dmitry jump out of their skins. Anastasia scooted closer to Dmitry. Vlad watched both of them. Anastasia nibbled on the bread in her hands. 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Dmitry laid down on the ground. Anastasia laid her head on his chest, an arm draped over his torso. Vlad watched them with idle curiosity. The Tsar’s favorite (and only) kitchen boy and his youngest daughter had somehow survived. Based on how Anastasia was dressed, he speculated Dmitry had something to do with her survival. The last time he saw Anastasia that night, she had been running out the rear entrance of the ballroom. 

“I’m cold, Dima,” Anastasia murmured. Dmitry took his tattered coat out from beneath his head, covering Anastasia with it. She shivered, scooting as close to him as possible. He was thankful he had been wearing it when the Bolsheviks raided the palace. 

“By the end of the week, the Bolsheviks should be through raiding all of the palaces. They’ll be abandoned. Maybe then we can stay in one of them until we figure something out,” Dmitry mumbled. 

“You’ll have to be careful if you do that,” Vlad muttered. “Your best bet would be Yusupov since it’s the one that takes forty minutes to walk to.” 

Anastasia shifted in an attempt to get comfortable on the cold, hard ground. She huffed in aggravation. 

“We’ll get off of this ground soon, Anya,” Dmitry murmured. 

“I certainly hope so,” she grumbled. 

* * *

 

“Ouch! Careful, Anya,” Dmitry put his hand over his nose. Anastasia had woken up with a jerk and punched him in the nose. 

“I am so sorry,” Anastasia apologized. 

“It’s alright,” Dmitry muttered. “Well, it is as long as you don’t make a habit of it.” 

“I’ll try,” Anastasia forced a smile. Vlad chuckled at the two of them and shook his head. Anastasia sat up, pulling Dmitry’s coat around her shoulders. 

Dmitry sat up and brought his knees up to his chest. He wasn’t sure how many of the servants had survived the siege. He knew for certain that Chef Phlegmenkoff had. He was off visiting his sister. 

Dmitry ran his hand through his chestnut colored hair, trying to loosen any dirt that was in it. Anastasia was starting to look thinner, he noticed while watching her as she strolled by the river. He’d only been able to go out every other day for food, just to keep speculation that he was stealing down. Not that it made him feel any better that they didn’t know it. 

Anastasia slipped her arms into the sleeves of Dmitry’s coat, trying to block out the chill she was feeling. Dmitry knew he had to get her inside soon. She was starting to look ill. Even though he knew he couldn’t have expected her to look healthy, especially when she was used to eating three times a day and sleeping in a warm bed, but he didn’t expect her to look like she did. Anastasia knelt by the river and splashed her face with the cool water from the Neva. 

“Are you alright, Anya?” Dmitry questioned, crouching down beside her. 

“My head hurts,” Anastasia mumbled. “It might just be from aggravation or something, don't worry about it." 

Dmitry sighed and stood up. Vlad gave him an odd look. 

"I'm going to go see if Yusupov's empty. If it's been raided, we'll go there this evening." 

* * *

 

When Dmitry returned, he had a triumphant grin on his face. Anastasia knew what that meant. 

"We don't have to sleep under the bridge tonight?" 

"No," Dmitry responded. "We get to stay in Yusupov. Better get going if we're going to get there before dark." 

* * *

 

Upon arriving at Yusupov, Anastasia grew tired. Night had started to set in, the moon casting a dim glow on the streets. Anastasia glanced around when they entered, half expecting to see the place trashed. Much to her surprise, it wasn't. They headed upstairs, Vlad leading them through the dark halls. They each claimed a room, Dmitry's being right across the hall from Anastasia's. 

They all bid each other goodnight before going into their rooms to turn in for the night. Dmitry couldn't sleep. No matter how much he twisted and turned, he couldn't get comfortable. He gave up on trying to sleep a few moments later. Dmitry stared at the ceiling, trying to think of something he could do. A scream sounded across the hall.

Anastasia ran into his room, her eyes filled with fear. Dmitry sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, Anastasia immediately wrapping her arms around his torso and burying her face in his chest. 

"Hey, hey, what's the matter?" Dmitry cooed softly. 

"Every time I close my eyes, I see them," she cried. "How do I make it go away?" 

"I don't know, Anya," he murmured, rubbing her back. Anya stayed there for several moments, her arms tightly wrapped around him. Dmitry had his arms wrapped around her as well, murmuring comforting phrases in her ear. While sleeping under the bridge, she hadn't had nightmares. If she had, she had hidden them pretty well. Dmitry wasn't sure as to what he was supposed to do. The only person who could calm her down was the Tsar, and, well... he wasn't alive. 

Anastasia apologized and stepped back. Dmitry lit an oil lamp that he had found and sat down on the bed, patting the spot beside him. Her strawberry blonde hair reflected the light from the flame. He took her hand in his, rubbing the back of it as he wiped her tears with the other hand. 

"Anya," he breathed, "someday, I'm going to take you to Paris. Then you can live with your grandmother. It might take a while, but I promise you I'll get you to Paris." 


	5. Vaganov

_**1927** _

Anastasia shivered. She wrapped her threadbare blanket around her shoulders before scurrying across the hallway to Dmitry’s room. 

“Dima, I’m cold,” Anastasia whined. 

“Come over here,” Dmitry sighed. “I guess you can sleep in here.” 

Anastasia scurried over to his bed, laying down beside him. She scooted close to him, closing her eyes. Dmitry wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. 

Dmitry had fallen asleep, leaving a shivering Anastasia awake. She didn’t know how Dmitry slept in his undershirt. It had no sleeves and it was thin. She just didn’t understand it. 

Anastasia slept in a long sleeve shirt and she still shivered from the cold. She closed her eyes, trying to drift off to sleep. 

* * *

 

Dmitry was the first one to awake the next morning. As he awoke, Anastasia groaned and shifted in her sleep. He sleepily chuckled and blinked a few times, his eyes trying to adjust to the brightness of the room. 

Anastasia whined and whimpered in her sleep. Dmitry played with her long knotted and matted hair. It went down to her lower back. Dmitry kissed the crown of her head before moving to get up. 

Anastasia woke up then, her eyes seeing his back. He pulled his shirt on and stood up while buttoning it. 

“What time is it, Dima?” Anastasia yawned. 

“I’d say around seven,” Dmitry responded. 

“Hmph. I’ve got to go.” It was silent for a moment. “But I really don’t want to.” 

* * *

 

Anastasia cried out when a backfiring truck passed by her. That earned her a lot of odd looks. Her cheeks flushed red as she turned her attention back to the street. 

"Are you alright, Miss?" 

Anastasia whipped her head to the left, meeting the Deputy Commissioner's gaze. She slowly nodded, tightening her grip on her broom. 

"Don't be so nervous, I'm not going to hurt you," he assured her. "My name's Gleb. Gleb Vaganov." 

"Anya," she smiled nervously. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Anya. May I offer you a cup of tea or something?" Gleb inquired. 

"Well, you can ask, but I'd have to decline. My employer will have my head if I'm not sweeping the streets," Anastasia responded. Gleb chuckled. 

"Well, I suppose I'll ask another time, then. Have a good day." 

"You as well." 

She breathed a sigh of relief the moment he was gone. Anastasia hurriedly got back to work. She had always done her best to stay away from the Bolsheviks. Never so much it was noticeable to them, but she had always made a point of being a penniless orphan that was unlucky when near them. A hard-working, good, loyal Russian girl that tried to get by in the new order. All she had to do was keep up the act until she and Dmitry and Vlad could get out of the country. Dmitry had promised it wouldn't be much longer, that he'd even make a deal to get the papers he needed to get her out. She had denied that immediately. 

Anastasia smiled at the thought of Dmitry. Even though he could have gotten out of the palace easily the night of the siege, he had stayed with her. He had protected her and helped her learn to survive on the streets. Though she repeatedly claimed she didn't need him to protect her anymore, she lied to herself every day when she told herself she didn't enjoy the feeling of being protected. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Oh my God, Dmitry," she put her hand on her chest. "Don't do that!" She punched his arm firmly. 

Dmitry laughed and took the broom from her. "It's six o'clock, my dear friend. Let's go." 

"Where are we going?" 

"Anywhere you'd like," he chuckled as he draped an arm over her shoulder. "Except Paris. I can't get you there yet." 

"Let's walk for a while," Anastasia giggled. "Maybe we can figure out a way to get to Paris while we walk." 

"Don't bet on it." 

* * *

 

Dmitry grabbed his leather satchel the moment they entered the palace. Anastasia shot him an inquisitive look. Dmitry smiled innocently and brushed past her, walking to the ballroom. 

"C'mon, Anya! I've got something I wanna show you," Dmitry called out. Anastasia walked to the ballroom, seeing him sitting on the floor near the fireplace. Anastasia sat down beside him. He opened the satchel and pulled out a golden music box, one that was initialed with an 'A'. Anastasia gasped. 

"My music box," she whispered. "I thought the Bolsheviks would destroy it." 

Dmitry watched as she turned the crank on the bottom and opened it. She giggled gleefully as she held it with her right hand, gently brushing the figurines inside it with her fingertips. Her eyes lit up. 

"Anya, I'm going to at least try to get the tangles and knots out of your hair. If that doesn't work, I'll have to cut it until the matted spots are gone, alright?" Anastasia nodded and turned to where her back faced Dmitry, carefully closing the music box. She set it on the floor beside her. 

"Ow!" Anya shouted. "I think that's matted, Dmitry." 

"You and me both, Your Grace," he sighed. "I'll be right back." 

* * *

 

Anastasia yawned, "How much more, Dmitry?" 

"I don't know, Nastya. I mean your hair went down to your lower back," Dmitry muttered. "Now hold still." 

Anastasia did as she was told, flinching slightly when she heard the  _snip_ of the scissors. She heard Dmitry set them down and grab a hairbrush. He ran the brush through her now shoulder-length hair, getting the few tangles out of it. 

"M-my hair," she whispered, rubbing the back of her neck. 

"I know, I'm sorry," Dmitry apologized. "I didn't want to cut it, but it had to be done. I'm going to make sure you get to Paris by the end of the week no matter what." 

"What about you? I'm not going anywhere without you," Anastasia stated stubbornly, turning to where she faced him. 

"I'll get there soon enough," Dmitry said, exasperated. "You've got to get out of this country before Vaganov figures it out, Nastya." 

"He won't find out, Dima," Anastasia argued. "I can keep it hidden for a little while longer, just until we can go together." 

"No, Nastya! You've got to get out now," Dmitry protested. "It's too dangerous for you here. If Vaganov finds out--" 

"He won't! I swear he won't find out. I don't want to go without you." 

"I know, Nastya, but you've got to. It's getting too dangerous for you here, especially now that people are kindling rumors." 

Anastasia's eyes filled with tears as she stared into his eyes. 

"I won't go." 

"Yes, you will, even if I have to drag you there and throw you on that train myself." Anastasia huffed and stood up. 

"I wish you the best of luck with that."


	6. Anya

“Anya?” 

Dmitry sat up and rubbed his eyes before turning to light the oil lamp he kept beside his bed. Anastasia was standing in the doorway. 

“Come here.” 

She shook her head. 

“What’s wrong?” Dmitry blinked. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t come in. He looked closer, only to see that she wore no expression on her face. It was void of any type of emotion. “Anastasia Nikolaevna, why won’t you answer me?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. Dmitry pushed his threadbare blanket off of him, grabbing the lamp and walking over to her. 

“What’s the matter with you?” 

Anastasia looked up at him. Dmitry blinked a few times. Her eyes were glassy… almost as if she were dead. His eyes slowly trailed down to the white fabric of her nightgown, a blossom of red blood formed directly above her heart. 

Dmitry stumbled back, setting the lamp down before slowly approaching her again. 

“W-what happened to you?” he breathed. She didn’t respond. Dmitry’s eyes met hers. “Why won’t you answer me?” 

“If you must know, Gleb found out,” Anastasia responded. “He didn’t put me in front of a firing squad. He had ‘mercy’ on me. Shot me himself underneath the bridge.” 

“N-no, no, that-that can’t be right. I saw you not even three hours ago,” Dmitry shook his head. Anastasia shook her head.

”No, Dmitry. You saw me this morning.” 

“No, no, I watched you go into your room,” he argued. He knew he did. Just like he _always_  did. He’d bid her goodnight while she went into her room. 

“But don’t fret, Dima. I’m with my family now,” she spoke softly. 

Dmitry shook his head slightly. 

 _Oh, please let this be a nightmare._  

* * *

 

“Oh God,” Dmitry whispered after he woke up. Lighting the lamp, he noticed his breathing was shaky. He didn’t understand it. He’d never had a dream like that, not in the ten years they had been keeping her true identity a secret. 

Around that time, Anastasia ran into his room, looking like a frightened child that could have sworn they had a monster hiding under their bed. She scurried over to Dmitry’s bed, letting him pull her down to where she sat on his lap. 

Anastasia buried her face in his shoulder, a quiet sob escaping her lips. 

“They won’t leave me alone.” 

Dmitry rubbed her arm, trying to calm her down. She put her forehead against his neck, sniffing. Anastasia wrapped her arms around his neck. Dmitry wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the tip of her nose. 

“What happened to you?” Anastasia sniffled. 

“Just a dream,” Dmitry shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” 

“I think so,” she whispered. “Can I sleep in here?” 

“Of course,” Dmitry yawned. “I’ve told you that you can sleep in here anytime you want.” 

Anastasia stood up, which allowed Dmitry to scoot over and lay down. She hurried to her room, grabbed her blanket, and then went back to Dmitry’s room. She lay down beside him, curling into a ball in an attempt to stay warm. Dmitry turned to where he faced her and wrapped his arms around her thin waist. He frowned. She was much too thin. 

“Sleep well, Dima,” Anastasia murmured. 

“Sleep well, Nastya.” 

* * *

 

Vlad had already searched the kitchen, the ballroom, the theater, and the study that was downstairs. He couldn’t find Dmitry and Anastasia. He begrudgingly trudged back up the stairs, opening the door to Dmitry’s room. 

Dmitry and Anastasia had their arms wrapped around each other, sleeping. Vlad smiled and carefully closed the door before going downstairs. He wandered the halls while waiting for the two young people to awaken, knowing they both probably had a nightmare at some ungodly hour and needed the sleep. 

* * *

 

Dmitry grunted as he woke up, looking down at Anastasia. Anastasia shifted slightly, looking up at Dmitry. 

“Dima, I’m so tired,” Anastasia sighed, putting her forehead against Dmitry’s chest. Dmitry chuckled. She pulled her arms back, then pushed herself up to a sitting position. Dmitry sat up and stretched his arms above his head. He got up and picked his shirt up off of the floor, pulling it on over his shoulders. 

"Y'know, I had the strangest dream last night," Dmitry muttered. "It was weird." 

"Weird?" Anastasia raised a brow. Dmitry nodded. "How?" 

"It just was," he shrugged. "I mean... for ten years, I've managed to sleep somewhat peacefully. You know, a nightmare, then wake up, go back to sleep, I'm fine. It was different last night." 

"Would that be why you looked like you saw a ghost when I came in here?" Anastasia questioned. Dmitry nodded in response, pulling his boots on. "Want to tell me about it?" 

"Not really." 

Anastasia huffed, "I tell you about mine!" 

Dmitry glanced at her and sighed. She got up and walked over to him. Dmitry averted his gaze. "It was just a bad dream, Anya." 

"It was more than that if you can remember it. Spit it out, Dmitry." 

"All I'm going to say is that you were in it," Dmitry deadpanned. Anastasia wrapped her arms around him. "What?" 

"I'll get it out of you later," she smiled up at him. Dmitry laughed and kissed her forehead. 

* * *

 

"Anya?" 

"Huh?" Anastasia snapped her head up from the book she was reading. 

"Come here," Vlad mumbled. Anastasia snapped her book shut and got up, walking over to where Vlad sat. "Have you seen Dmitry today?" 

"No," Anastasia shook her head. "Not since this morning." 

"Try to find him, would you?" 

Anastasia nodded and grabbed her coat, pulling it around her. She secured it with her belt and waved to Vlad as she left. She headed for the streets of Leningrad, clicking her tongue while she walked. She hadn't the slightest idea of where Dmitry was or where he could even be.  

She went through several alleyways, muttering under her breath every once in a while about how she was going to hit him when she found him. Anastasia wandered to another alleyway, as Dmitry usually never roamed the streets. He always used the alleyways. Anastasia was hesitant to enter it, but she entered anyway. She was slammed against the wall, a tall man coming into view. 

Anastasia gulped. Then, she opened her mouth and screamed.

* * *

 

Dmitry slipped into an alleyway. He heard a scream. 

"Anya," he whispered, bolting toward the alley she was in. He stopped when he saw who it was. Dmitry bent down and picked up a stick. Anastasia glanced down at the ground, her eyes on a rather large stick. If she could bend down, she could easily get out of there. Dmitry threw his stick at the man's head. Within three seconds, Dmitry had managed to get pinned against a wall. 

Anastasia took her chance and cracked him in the back of the head with the stick she had found. Anastasia was much stronger than Dmitry thought she was, for the man actually flinched and let go of him, scurrying out of the alleyway. 

"Thank you," she murmured. "I was looking for you anyway. Vlad sent me out to find you and I guess I stumbled in the wrong alleyway." 

"Are you alright?" Dmitry asked. She nodded. "Good. Next time, carry a knife or something with you, please." Anastasia laughed and linked her arm with his. 

Dmitry chuckled and walked out of the alley, Anastasia beside him. He listened to her as she ranted about how she had gone through at least five different alleyways, and he hadn't been in a single one of them. She then said she had thought about hitting him, but decided against it after he helped her out. Dmitry was thankful for that. While they walked back to Yusupov, Dmitry had started to realize that he cared more for Anastasia than he probably should have. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. 

"And another thing, Dmitry Sudayev, I want to know what that dream of yours was about." 

"Well, aren't you in a chipper mood," Dmitry remarked, pushing the door open. Anastasia scoffed and walked inside, a snickering Dmitry following her. 

"Oh, you think you're so funny," Anastasia pushed his shoulder. "What was the dream about?" 

"Like I said this morning, all you are going to know is that you were in it." He tapped her nose and jogged up the stairs. Anastasia huffed. 

Dmitry went to his room and closed the door. He took off his coat and shirt, then pulled his boots off. He stood in front of the window, watching the few lights in Leningrad slowly go out. He tapped his fingers against the window sill and bit his lower lip. He couldn't make sense of why he cared so much for Anastasia.  He shook his head before going over to his bed. He'd decided to sleep on it, hoping and praying he wouldn't have another dream like the one he'd had the night before. 

Dmitry huffed and laid down, staring at the ceiling.  While laying there, he came to realize why he cared so much about her, and he loathed himself for it. He loved her. Chef Phlegmenkoff's words rang in his ears. 

_"Princesses don't marry kitchen boys."_

Dmitry turned onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut. Quietly, he muttered, "I should've known," before drifting off to sleep. 


	7. Distance

Over the span of a week, Dmitry had distanced himself from Anastasia. He was determined to force himself to stop loving her. To do that, he'd have to stay away from her, as much as it hurt him to see her eyes fill with hurt each time he brushed by her without speaking a word to her. 

Anastasia had started to try to think of reasons to make him talk to her. She couldn't get him to do anything, really. He wouldn't even walk beside her. Anastasia couldn't mask the way it hurt her, no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't. She was used to Dmitry always being there for her. Then, suddenly, he'd just... disappeared. It was like he wasn't there anymore. 

Dmitry had gotten to where he never left his room. He was so determined he kept himself locked up in there, Vlad occasionally bringing him something to eat and shaking his head at him. Dmitry couldn't face her. No matter how many times he told himself he was doing more harm than good, he couldn't bring himself to leave his room. 

“You’re going to have to leave this room eventually, Dmitry.” 

Dmitry glanced up at Vlad and sighed. 

“I can always climb out the window,” Dmitry tried to joke. Vlad shot him a disapproving look. Dmitry put his hands up in mock surrender. 

“You better eat, Dmitry. I’m starting to think you’re ill or something,” Vlad told him. “You won’t even talk to Anya.” 

“I have my reasons,” Dmitry muttered. Vlad raised a brow as he tried to think of what reasons Dmitry could have for purposely avoiding his best friend. 

“You love her.” 

“What? _No,_ you’re out of your head!” Dmitry denied it, standing up. “You’ve gone mad, Vladimir Popov.” 

“I have not,” Vlad huffed, setting the bowl of soup on Dmitry’s bedside table. “You love her and you’re trying to make it go away.” 

“You’re crazy! I don’t love her, not like that anyway!” 

“I’m not crazy,” Vlad rolled his eyes. 

Dmitry leaned against the wall, his hands covering his face. He slowly moved to where his arms were crossed over his chest. 

“I don’t love her,” he repeated. Vlad could hear his voice break. “I don’t love her. I don’t _want_ to love her. I like being her friend.” 

Vlad grabbed a chair and sat down. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Dmitry demanded. 

“What do you mean?” The old man’s brows furrowed. 

“You look like you don’t believe me. I’m telling you, I don’t love her!” Dmitry exclaimed. Vlad blinked. Dmitry was getting agitated for no reason at all. 

“I believe you. If you say you don’t love her, then you don’t love her.” 

Dmitry bit down on his bottom lip, looking at Vlad. Vlad knew Dmitry was denying it. He knew the young man was lying both to himself and to the former Count. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to love her, it was because he was afraid to. A way to save himself from heartbreak when he finally got her to Paris. 

Dmitry jumped when Anastasia entered the room. He hung his head, hoping she wouldn’t ask anything. 

“Is everything alright?” Anastasia spoke quietly. The two men nodded. “I’m going to bed now. See you in the morning.” They quietly bade her goodnight. 

Dmitry looked up after she left. “Has she been alright?” 

“Who? Anya? Yes, quite alright. Although, I’m starting to think she thinks that you hate her or something,” Vlad answered Dmitry’s question quickly. 

“What? Why would she think I hate her?” 

“You went from being inseparable to distant. Did you really think locking yourself up in here was going to make it any better for you or for her? If anything, it’s going to make it worse, Dmitry.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dmitry’s voice cracked mid-sentence. Vlad sighed exasperatedly. 

“Dmitry, you know as well as I do what I’m talking about. If you weren’t so stubborn, you’d admit it,” Vlad stated matter-of-factly. Dmitry shook his head. 

“There’s nothing to admit.” 

“Dmitry Sudayev, you know as well as I that there is! Must you be so stubborn?” 

Dmitry looked up at the former Count and sighed. He wasn’t going to admit it. He wasn’t going to acknowledge the fact that the man was right. He would keep on doing what he was doing. He had almost saved up enough money for her papers and ticket. Once he got her out of the country, everything would be fine. Well, that’s what he told himself, at least. That everything would be just fine as soon as he got her out of Russia. 

He feigned interest in the floor and shifted from foot to foot. Vlad walked over to him, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. 

“Dmitry, I don’t understand you,” Vlad sighed. Dmitry slightly shrugged at that. “We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow. I’m tired. Goodnight, Dmitry.” 

“Night.”

* * *

 

Nightmares had become more frequent for Dmitry. He couldn’t sleep peacefully because of them. So, as he paced the floor at two forty-five in the morning, he tugged at his hair. He wiped his face clean of tears, then sniffed and looked toward the door. 

He wanted to talk to her, to see her smile again. Every time he saw her, she had a somber expression on her face. He wanted to talk to her so badly, but he wouldn’t. He’d let her think he hated her. Maybe she’d start to hate him in return and make it easier when she left for good. 

What didn’t help at all was that she hadn’t been sleeping and heard him crying. He could tell by the way she knocked that it was her. Dmitry didn’t want to answer it. If he got close to her again, it’d do nothing but break his heart. But, he let his heart control his actions for a few moments. He opened the door. 

Anastasia immediately wrapped her arms around him tightly. Dmitry wrapped his arms around her as well. Anastasia pulled out of the hug a moment later, standing on her tiptoes and wiping the tears off of his face. 

“Dima, what’s wrong?” Anastasia whispered. Dmitry shrugged in response. 

 _Distance,_ he reminded himself. _You have to be distanced._

 _“_ You’re making me worry, Dima,” Anastasia muttered. “Please talk to me.” 

“About what, Anya?” Dmitry mumbled. 

“Anything.” 

“I dunno, Anya. Maybe tomorrow. I’m tired and I just want to sleep,” he lied. Anastasia sighed and nodded. 

“Well… goodnight, Dima.” 

“Goodnight, Anya.” 

* * *

 

“He hates me,” Anastasia cried. “What did I do?” She sniffed and looked at Vlad, who was graciously holding a handkerchief out to her. 

“You did nothing. He doesn’t hate you,” he assured her. Well, he tried to, anyway. 

“He’s avoiding me!” 

“He’s avoiding everyone,” Vlad pointed out. 

“He makes a point to avoid me the most. He wouldn’t even talk to me last night.” Anya rubbed her eyes. 

“I’ll talk to him, alright?” Vlad smiled softly at her. She nodded slowly. “I’ll be back soon.” 

“How long is soon?” Anastasia queried. 

“It depends on how stubborn he’s going to be.” 

* * *

 

Dmitry kept his back to the door when it creaked open, thinking it was Anastasia. His heart seemed to squeeze at the thought of her. 

Vlad cleared his throat after closing the door. Dmitry turned his head toward him, watching him sit down. Dmitry turned back to the window. 

“Are you ever going to talk to her?” Vlad broke the silence in the room. 

“I don’t know,” Dmitry muttered in response. 

“Dmitry, you have no valid reasoning to avoid her. She thinks you hate her!” 

Dmitry flinched. “Maybe it’s better that way.” 

“You’re a fool, boy. You’re too stubborn to admit you love her, and in an attempt to stop loving her, you lock yourself in here and avoid her. You let her think you hate her when you really love her. What’s the matter with you?!”

“I don’t love her!” Dmitry shouted. “I don’t love her, not the way you think I do!” 

“Then _talk to her!_ ” Vlad raised his voice as well. “She’s got herself convinced that she’s done something wrong and that you hate her!” 

“Tell her she’s done nothing wrong. Tell her it’s me, it’s all me! I’m a fool, just like you said. I’m a fool. That’s all I am. A stupid fool,” Dmitry laughed bitterly. 

“Dmitry,” Vlad started. 

“Go.” 

“I will not.”

“Why not? You don’t trust me?” Dmitry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall.

“It’s not that. _You_ need to talk to her.” 

“I don’t want to talk to her!” Dmitry shouted, turning around to where he faced Vlad. He could see the tear stains on Dmitry’s cheeks clearly. “I don’t want to see her! I just want to be alone!” 

“Dmitry, that girl is down there in the theater crying because she thinks you hate her!” 

 "Let her think that!" Dmitry roared. "Let her think I hate her so much I can't stand to look at her! Let her think anything she wants to think! Let's face it, Vlad, I'm going to end up being nothing but a stupid jerk to her. I don't want to talk to her, I don't want to see her, I don't even want to hear her voice! Just leave me alone." 

Vlad watched Dmitry's anger deflate into what seemed to be depression. 

"Go, Vlad. I don't want to talk anymore right now," Dmitry spoke quietly. His voice seemed to be broken. It sounded meek. 

"Alright, Dmitry," Vlad sighed. 

Dmitry waited until he had shut the door to sit down on his bed, grabbing his pillow and covering his face with it. It muffled his scream, as it always did. Dmitry started to cry, throwing his pillow down roughly on the mattress. While he cried, four words repeated themselves in his head:  _What have I done?_

 


	8. I Hate You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not what you think.

Dmitry walked into the theater after brushing by Anastasia. He hadn't said a single word to her. He could hear her struggling to hide that she was crying as she went upstairs. Dmitry sighed and sat down next to Vlad. 

"You're doing more harm than good," Vlad dully noted. Dmitry grunted and shifted in his seat. Vlad looked at the former kitchen boy, seeing a deep sadness in his eyes that he couldn't describe. "Just talk to her, Dmitry. You're hurting yourself  _and_ you're hurting her." 

Dmitry shook his head, “It’s for the best, Vlad.”

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” Vlad huffed. Dmitry warily smiled, his lips pressed together firmly. Vlad watched Dmitry pick at a loose string on his shirt. 

The longer the two sat there, Vlad had pieced together why Dmitry had waited so late to leave his room. He knew when Anastasia went to bed. 

“When will you talk to her? This has gone on long enough!” 

Dmitry huffed a sigh. He had his arms crossed over his chest. He glanced at the doorway when Anastasia came back to the theater.

His brows furrowed. He was sure she would have gone to bed. It was nearly midnight. Dmitry stared at the floor.

Anastasia sat down beside him, sniffling quietly. Dmitry picked at his fingernails. He forced himself to keep his eyes glued to the floor. He felt terrible. His best friend was the person he loved and he wouldn’t do anything but try to get rid of that feeling. After all, princesses don’t marry kitchen boys. 

“You two are the most stubborn people I’ve ever met!” Vlad exclaimed, throwing his hands up as if to say he gave up. Vlad, who was getting rather annoyed by the tense silence, got up and left before he lost his temper. They both confided in him for whatever reason they had, and they were too blind to see they loved each other. 

“You said you were going to talk to me a week ago.” 

Dmitry’s head snapped up. “I’ve been busy.” 

“Doing what? Hiding in your room?” Anastasia snapped. “What happened between us? Did I do something that’s made you hate the ground I walk on?!” 

“No,” he breathed, shaking his head. Anastasia had a witty remark on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back when she noticed how sad he sounded. He sounded… fragile. She’d never heard Dmitry sound so broken. 

“Then what is it?” Anastasia questioned. Dmitry shook his head. 

Now that she could see him better, she noticed his appearance had changed too. His hair was messier, his skin seemed paler, he seemed to be thinner, and his eyes held a great sadness. As she looked closer, she could see tear stains on his ghostly pale skin. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Stop lying to me.” 

Dmitry averted his gaze. He closed his eyes, forcing unwanted tears back. “I’m fine, Anya.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re not taking care of yourself anymore,” she whispered. Dmitry rubbed his temples and shifted in his seat. “What happened to you? It’s like you’re a completely different person.” 

“Nothing happened to me!” Anastasia blinked in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting him to get so irritated over a single question. He stood up, and she did as well. 

“What’s wrong, Dmitry?” Anastasia couldn’t understand why he was getting so angry. 

“Nothing,” he grumbled. “Nothing is wrong.” 

Anastasia shook her head, “I disagree.” 

“Nothing is wrong, _Your Highness._ ” Dmitry forced a smile. “Nothing at all.” 

Anastasia was starting to lose her temper. “It’s clearly something, Dmitry Sudayev! You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks!” 

“I have my reasons!” Dmitry retorted. 

“You have your reasons?! Dmitry, we’ve been best friends for what, twenty years? And suddenly, you have reasons to avoid me!” Anastasia shouted. 

“You don’t understand!” 

“Then help me understand!” 

“It’s best that you don’t!” Dmitry shrieked. “I don’t want you to understand!” 

Anastasia felt a painful pang in her chest. She didn’t say anything. She drew her hand back and slapped him, his head turning to the left. She turned and left the room, leaving him alone. 

* * *

 

“I told you to talk to her,” Vlad sighed as he entered Dmitry’s room. Dmitry didn’t say anything. “The next time you two are together, I’m not going to leave you two alone. Heaven knows what’ll happen if I do.” 

“Leave me alone.” 

Vlad sighed and patted Dmitry’s shoulder.

“There’s another way to solve this,” he told him. 

“To solve what? We just lost our tempers, that’s all.” 

“You’re not fooling anyone.” 

Dmitry glanced at Vlad and sighed. 

"She's right, you know. It is like you're a completely different person," Vlad sat down beside him. 

Dmitry let out a 'hmph' and held his pillow against his chest. He knew it seemed that he was completely different. He was. He was sure that if he let himself get close to her again, he'd be back to his normal self, but he wasn't going to let that happen. He needed to get rid of the feelings for good. The only way to do that was to stay away from her. 

"Dmitry," the former Count sighed, "you need to talk to her. Tell her the truth. There's always the possibility she feels the same way." 

Dmitry shot Vlad a glare. "It's not going to matter once she gets to Paris." 

* * *

 

"Anya, you have to eat something." 

For the past three days, Vlad had been running from room to room, trying to get one of them to talk to the other. Much to his terrible luck, they were both unbelievably stubborn and refused to budge. Anastasia hadn't eaten a thing in those three days, and it was starting to make the old man worry. He had considered telling Dmitry about it, but he wasn't sure that would do much good. Dmitry seemed determined to stay in his room. 

"I'm not hungry," Anastasia grumbled, turning to where her back faced him. Vlad sighed. At the rate it was going, he was convinced they'd never speak to each other again. 

"Alright. I'll leave it here in case you get hungry." 

He set the plate on the table and left, going across the hall. He opened the door and stepped inside. 

"Dmitry, talk to her." 

"I've told you before, I'm not leaving this room," Dmitry sighed. "Why are you so determined to get me to talk to her?" 

"It's been like this for three days, Dmitry. Neither of you will leave your rooms, she's not eating anything, you're moping, I can't take it!" Vlad exclaimed. 

"Nastya's not eating?" Dmitry sat up, his brows furrowed. Vlad shook his head. "Why?" 

"I don't know, Dmitry," Vlad lowered his voice. Dmitry bit his lower lip and sighed. 

"I guess I'll talk to her." 

* * *

 

Dmitry wrung his hands nervously. The last time he spoke to Anastasia, he lost his temper within two minutes flat. He hoped and prayed that wouldn't happen again. He knocked on her door. 

"Come in." 

Dmitry frowned as he twisted the doorknob.  He made sure the frown was gone before entering the room. 

"Nastya?" 

"Dima?" She turned her head toward him, her eyes wide. "W-what are you doing? I thought you weren't going to talk to me." 

"I've been told that you haven't been eating. And that you haven't for three days," Dmitry spoke quietly. "I'm worried about you." 

"I'm sorry," she blurted. "I-I didn't mean to slap you as hard as I did and I don't know why I--" 

"Hey, hey, it's alright. I've been hit harder than that," Dmitry assured her. Anastasia got up and ran over to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Dmitry wrapped his arms around her as well. 

"I'm sorry," she repeated. 

"You have nothing to apologize for," Dmitry whispered. Anastasia sniffed and buried her face in his chest. "It's alright, Nastya." 

Dmitry kissed the top of her head. Anastasia giggled happily. 

* * *

 

The next morning, Dmitry was in a bitter mood. Anastasia had playfully teased him about his hair, and he had snapped at her. He felt terrible afterward and apologized, though. Dmitry hadn't meant to snap at her. It just happened. 

Anastasia had stuck to his side that day, the two laughing and talking, just as they always had. Vlad was glad the two seemed to be back to normal. 

 _Distance,_ a voice in Dmitry's head shrieked.  _You have to be distanced, you fool. What happened to letting her think you hate her?_

Dmitry seemed to think about it for a moment. He loved her, that he knew. He didn't want her to think that he hated her. One day, he decided. One day and then he'd distance himself again. 

* * *

 

Dmitry sighed as he laid down. He turned on his side, shaking his head. He wasn't so sure he wanted to distance himself again. He knew that if he didn't, she'd unknowingly break his heart, but who was to say when that would be? 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about it. 

* * *

 

Dmitry didn't leave his room the next morning. He didn't want to face her. Vlad came into his room, sitting down beside Dmitry. 

"Why are you hiding in here again?" 

"I can't get too close to her," Dmitry muttered. "I just can't." 

"Dmitry, why won't you get close to her?" Vlad inquired. 

"I just won't," Dmitry responded, picking at his fingernails. 

"Dmitry--" 

The door opened to reveal Anastasia. Anastasia's brows furrowed. 

"Dima, are you alright?" Anastasia questioned. Dmitry nodded. "Alright... I'll be in the theater if you need me." 

Anastasia closed the door and hurried down the hallway. 

"Talk to me, Dmitry. Why won't you get close to her?" Vlad glanced at Dmitry. 

"Because I love her," he sighed. "I love her and she's royalty. Princesses don't marry kitchen boys, Vlad. It's not normal." 

* * *

 

Anastasia glanced up when Dmitry came into the theater. She was shocked, to say the least since he hadn't said a single word to her all day. He went up on the stage, huffing when he saw the scribbled mess on the blackboard. He grabbed the nearest cloth and started to clean it off. Anastasia chuckled and went back to reading. 

"What in Russia was so important you can't even make out anything it says?" Dmitry glanced at her. Anastasia shrugged. 

"I honestly have no idea. It was like that when I came in," she laughed. "I was hoping he'd show up so I could ask about it." 

Dmitry nodded slightly. At that time, Vlad waltzed into the room. Anastasia immediately asked him about the scribbles on the blackboard. He had laughed and said it was simply crazy thoughts he had in the middle of the night. Dmitry shook his head at that, an amused smile on his face. Once he had the blackboard clean, he had moved to the right, muttering under his breath. Vlad had said something Dmitry didn't catch, only to have Vlad flip the blackboard. 

Dmitry yelped and stumbled back after the blackboard made contact with his nose. 

"Vlad!" Dmitry shouted. Anastasia was laughing, shaking her head. "I hate you." 

"Oh, it was an accident, Dmitry," Vlad struggled to contain his laughter. "I'm so sorry."

"Whatever." 


	9. I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's kind of short. Hope you like it!

“Dima?” 

Dmitry opened his eyes and sat up. 

“Hm?” 

“Can I sleep in here?” Anastasia asked timidly. Dmitry nodded. She scurried over to the bed, Dmitry scooting over and laying down. Anastasia laid down and put her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. 

“Dima… I’ve been thinking,” she yawned. 

“About what?” Dmitry questioned, shifting slightly to get comfortable. 

“When we get to Paris… it’ll be nice to see Nana again, but I don’t want the title or glittering jewels or anything. I’m going to give up my title,” Anastasia stated. Dmitry blinked. Of all the things he thought she would say, that wasn’t one of them. 

“Well, it’s your life and your title. I can’t tell you what to do with it,” Dmitry mumbled. 

She yawned and giggled. Dmitry twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he’d never be able to distance himself from her again. He thought he would be able to do it, but he couldn’t. 

Anastasia shifted and lazily draped her arm over his torso. Dmitry kissed the crown of her head. 

“Sleep well, Dima.” 

* * *

 

Anastasia propped herself up on her right elbow. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and blinked before looking at Dmitry. He was still sleeping. She giggled quietly and played with his hair. 

She stopped a few minutes later, laying down again and putting her head on his chest. She dozed off again. 

Vlad knocked before entering the room. When he saw the two, he quietly chuckled and shook his head. He left the room, closing the door behind him.  

* * *

 

"Anastasia, we've got to get you to Paris. And soon," Dmitry sighed. "Vaganov is getting suspicious with all of these rumors and I can't let you get hurt." 

"I'm not going anywhere without you," Anastasia crossed her arms over her chest. 

"Yes, you are." Dmitry stood up and got his satchel, opening it and pulling out a ticket and a small, red booklet. "You are getting on the midnight train tonight." 

"I am not." 

"Yes, you are," Dmitry argued. "You're getting on that train whether you like it or not, Anastasia Nikolaevna." 

"I don't want to go without you," she whispered. 

"You have to. I'll be there in a few weeks, I promise," Dmitry smiled at her. Anastasia slightly nodded. 

* * *

 

"D'you have everything?" 

Anastasia nodded. Dmitry picked up her bag, opening the door for her. Dmitry noticed she seemed to be debating something. 

"Are you alright?" Dmitry questioned, picking up his pace and walking beside her. 

"Yes," Anastasia nodded. "I'm fine, Dima." 

She wrapped her arms around his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked. When they got to the train station, she reluctantly took the items from Dmitry. He sighed and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. 

"I'll see you soon, alright?" Dmitry sadly smiled at her. 

"That doesn't make it any better," Anastasia whispered. 

"I know it doesn't, but I promise I'll be there in two weeks with Vlad." 

Anastasia nodded and looked up at him. She put the ticket and small booklet in her coat pocket. She sniffed and bit her lower lip, looking down at the floor. Dmitry pulled her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. 

"I'll see you then, Anya. Be careful." 

He turned to leave. 

"Dima!" 

"What?" He turned around again. 

Anastasia stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. 

"I love you." 

And then, she boarded the train, leaving a stunned Dmitry standing in the middle of the train station. 


	10. Without Anya / Without Dmitry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written on mobile, so please forgive any mistakes.

Three days had passed. Dmitry had been working hard to get what was needed to get out of the country. Vlad had been doing the same thing. 

“Yow!” Dmitry drew his hand back, a small trickle of blood running down his hand. “Well, that was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.” 

He glanced at the former Count, who had pulled out a handkerchief. 

“No, the dumbest thing you did was avoid Anya for two weeks,” Vlad told him as he wiped the blood off of Dmitry’s hand. 

Dmitry nodded. He had to admit that it was pretty dumb to avoid her for two weeks. Dmitry sighed and looked at Vlad, who had another knife and was cutting the vegetables. 

“What happened at the train station? You’ve been different since you came back.” Vlad glanced at the former kitchen boy. 

“Nothing,” Dmitry responded. He hadn’t told Vlad about what had happened. That would only give Vlad the right to laugh and say, “I told you so.” So, Dmitry had kept it to himself, smiling whenever he thought about it. He had decided the night she left that when he got to Paris, he’d tell her that he loved her as well. 

Dmitry blinked when Vlad snapped his fingers in front of his face. Vlad wittily remarked, “‘Nothing’ doesn’t make you smile at the counter like an idiot.” 

* * *

 

 _ **Paris**_  

Anastasia giggled as Lily waltzed around the room dramatically, mainly for Anastasia’s entertainment. Anastasia had been hiding in her room all day. Lily had heard her crying, and quickly came up with a plan to make her laugh. 

Lily plopped down on the sofa next to Anastasia, exhausted. Anastasia was still laughing at the Countess’s attempts to waltz on her own. It wasn’t that Lily was a bad dancer. It was simply that it was hard not to lead a dance when you were dancing by yourself, and Lily had attempted that. 

“That was beautiful, Lily,” Anastasia tried to contain her giggles. Lily laughed breathlessly. 

“Don’t expect me to do that again for a month.” 

Anastasia started to laugh again. Lily knew the girl had already told her grandmother she wanted to give up her title. That she didn’t want to return to royalty. She was happy being Anya. Lily knew why, too. 

When Anastasia had arrived at the estate, Lily had asked her firstly how she escaped. She had answered with the truth, saying that Dmitry had helped her escape. Secondly, Lily asked her how she managed to get out of Russia. Again, the answer was that Dmitry helped her. She left out the part where she kissed him and told him she loved him, but Lily figured that out on her own. 

Anastasia suddenly stopped laughing, staring at the window. She got up and walked over to it, seeing a beautiful sunset. She couldn’t help but wonder what Dmitry was doing. 

“Anastasia? Are you alright?” Lily inquired. 

“Yes, I’m alright,” Anastasia replied. “It’s just… beautiful.” 

“Indeed it is,” Lily nodded in agreement. 

Anastasia hummed. “I’m going to my room, Lily. I probably won’t be back out tonight.” 

* * *

 

 ** _Leningrad_**  

Dmitry groaned as he turned over, trying to get comfortable. He hadn’t slept much at all since Anastasia left. When she slept right across the hall, he knew she was safe. Now that she was in a completely different country, he didn’t know anything. 

Dmitry turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He twiddled his thumbs and sighed heavily. He couldn’t even sleep. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t sleep well without knowing she was safe. 

He ran his fingers through his chestnut colored hair. Dmitry threw the blanket off of him and got up. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep, so he decided to go downstairs for a while. Maybe he could come up with a way to get more money. 

* * *

 

“Are you alright, Dmitry?” 

Dmitry opened his eyes to see Vlad standing over him. 

“Hm? What...” Dmitry sat up. “...I don’t remember going to sleep.” 

“Judging by the bump on your head, you didn’t go to sleep,” Vlad remarked. “I told you staying up like that would hurt you in the end.” 

“I get it, I get it. Oh,” Dmitry groaned, rubbing the side of his head. 

“I’ll go get some ice.” 

Dmitry slowly climbed to his feet. He grunted and stepped off of the old stage, his hand still on the side of his head. 

“Here you go.” Dmitry gratefully took the ice that Vlad had wrapped in a cloth and put it to his head. “What were you doing down here anyway?” 

“Walking around,” he sighed. “I couldn’t sleep so I just started to walk around the palace.” 

“Well, you slept, Dmitry. I’m almost certain it was after you collapsed, but you slept,” Vlad muttered. Dmitry grunted in response. “Go to your room and sleep off your headache.” 

“You act like you’re my father,” Dmitry scowled. Vlad laughed heartily and watched Dmitry as he left the room. Dmitry trudged up to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

* * *

 

 ** _Paris_**  

Anastasia sighed as she ran her finger along the spine of a book. She hadn’t found anything that looked remotely interesting, which disappointed her to an extent. All she could think about was Dmitry and how she must’ve seemed like a fool to him. 

“You really messed up, Anya,” she muttered to herself. 

“What was that, my dear?” 

Anastasia jumped, startled by her grandmother’s voice. Maria laughed and walked over to her. 

“Nothing, Nana,” Anastasia breathed. 

“Oh, come now,” Maria sat down on the sofa in the room. “I know it’s something.” 

“I was just thinking about something,” Anastasia laughed. 

Maria hummed and patted the spot next to her. Anastasia walked over and sat down. 

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” 

And so, Anastasia told Maria everything. From 1917 when they escaped after the siege to 1927 when she kissed him and told him she loved him before boarding the train. Anastasia glanced at Maria once she had finished. 

“Well, that’s the most interesting thing I’ve heard in over ten years. The last I heard about that kitchen boy was in a letter your father sent,” Maria chuckled. “Dmitry, was it?” Anastasia nodded, her cheeks tinted pink. “Well, do you love him?” 

“Yes,” Anastasia nodded. “I do love him.” 

“I don’t see the problem,” the old woman shrugged. Anastasia laughed quietly and hugged her grandmother. “He’ll be here soon enough, Nastya.” 

“I know,” Anastasia sighed. “That still doesn’t mean I can’t miss him.” 

“Oh, you are so stubborn,” Maria scoffed. 

“I get that a lot.” 

The two laughed, Maria shaking her head. Maria hugged Anastasia and kissed the girl’s cheek. 

“I’ve got some business to attend to. Feel free to read whatever you like, my darling.” 

“Thank you, Nana,” Anastasia smiled. “I’ll see you soon?” Maria nodded. Anastasia pecked the old woman’s cheek and stood up. She went over to the bookshelf again. Silently, she admitted to herself that Paris would be much better if Dmitry was there with her. 

 _Just a few more days,_ she told herself. _He’ll be here soon._

* * *

 

_**Leningrad** _

********Dmitry sighed as he picked up his satchel. “Just a few more days,” he whispered. “A few days, then you’re out of this country for good.”


	11. Paris

**_Two weeks later_**  

Dmitry hadn’t ever felt so relieved. He hated trains, yet it was the only way to get to Paris at that point. 

At first glance, Paris was beautiful. Vlad said he knew where the Dowager Empress lived and that they’d go there as soon as they got new clothes. Dmitry had scowled at that. 

So, after letting Vlad have his fun in a Parisian clothing shop, Dmitry was standing on the doorstep of the Dowager Empress’s estate dressed in a blue suit. Dmitry glanced toward the Eiffel Tower, allowing his eyes to wander about while they waited. 

“Dima!” 

“Oof!” Dmitry grunted, nearly falling to the ground. Vlad struggled to contain his laughter, as did Lily. 

Once Dmitry caught his balance, he hugged her tightly. Anastasia giggled. 

"Sorry," she laughed. 

"It's alright," Dmitry chuckled. He kissed the crown of her head. Lily and Vlad were quietly talking. The topic being the two young adults beside them. Dmitry let his arms drop to his sides, Anastasia doing the same. The Count and the Countess went inside and closed the door, leaving the two alone. 

Dmitry smiled at her. Anastasia nervously smiled as well. She had a feeling of dread wash over her. Dmitry rubbed her cheek with his thumb, his eyes meeting hers. 

"You know, before you left, I never got to tell you something," he muttered. Anastasia raised a brow. "I love you, Anastasia." 

* * *

 

Anastasia sat on the sofa beside Dmitry, her legs drawn up. She leaned against Dmitry, yawning. Dmitry twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. 

"I'm so tired," she yawned. 

"Then sleep," he mumbled. Anastasia giggled tiredly. She shifted slightly and went to sleep. 

Dmitry exhaled deeply. He knew something was wrong. He had noticed Gleb looked slightly worried before he left the country. Gleb knew something, that much he was certain of. Dmitry knew that if the Bolshevik showed up in Paris, it would be because he was sent there to kill Anastasia. Though he was sure Gleb didn't know that she was really Anastasia, he wasn't certain of anything at that point. Gleb might have figured it out the day he talked to her. 

Dmitry looked down at Anastasia, who was sleeping peacefully. Dmitry held her close, his thoughts causing anxiety. If he told Vlad about his speculations, the Count would have called him crazy. The former kitchen boy was a lot of things, but crazy was not one of them. 

"Dmitry? Anastasia?" Lily's voice pierced the silence. Dmitry blinked and turned his head toward the doorway. "Oh. Um... I'll send some dinner up for the both of you." 

"Thank you," Dmitry forced a smile. Lily nodded and headed down the hallway. 

* * *

 

Gleb scowled the second he closed the door to his hotel room. He hated Paris. He hated that he told General Gorlinsky he had a good idea of who was going to be presented as the Grand Duchess and that he knew exactly where she was. He couldn't have let his crazy speculation go. 

Yes, Anya did have eyes similar to the youngest Romanov daughter, but that didn't make her the Grand Duchess. Though he hated himself for it, Gleb knew deep down inside that she truly was the Grand Duchess. She looked too much like her. 

Gleb huffed a sigh and sat down on the bed in his room, shaking his head. All he had done was mention the words 'suspect' and 'train' and the next thing he knew, he was sent to Paris after her. He should have expected that, at least. He should've known better. 

In Paris with orders to either kill the young woman if she really was Anastasia or to take her back to Russia if she wasn't, where they'd make an example out of her. Gleb groaned and laid back on the bed, his hands covering his face. 

"I'm an idiot," he sighed. "I'm going to be the reason she's dead."

* * *

 

"Dima," Anastasia whispered as she poked his shoulder. "Dima." 

Dmitry groaned and turned over. She had been sent in to wake him up for breakfast by Vlad. Anastasia huffed and shook his shoulder. 

"Dima." 

"Let me sleep," he sighed. Anastasia burst into a fit of laughter. 

"That's not going to happen. Get up, Sleeping Beauty." 

“Sleeping Beauty… Sleeping Beauty… Oh! That fairytale with a princess that was cursed at birth? Really, Nastya?” He turned over and shot her a disapproving look. “I’m not a princess. You are.” 

“Not anymore,” she laughed. 

“Mm… whatever,” he mumbled, turning over. Anastasia laughed. 

“We’re going to the ballet tonight. Get up.” 

“Fine,” Dmitry huffed. Anastasia shook her head as he stood up. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

"I love you too, Sleeping Beauty," Anastasia remarked before leaving the room. 

"Anya!" She poked her head back into the room. "Stop calling me Sleeping Beauty." 

"Hm... alright. I'll think of another nickname for you, Dima. See you at breakfast," she smiled. 

* * *

"I have gone insane." 

Anastasia cackled in delight, "It's just shopping, Dmitry." 

"Just shopping? Anya, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not the shopping type," Dmitry remarked wittily. Anastasia laughed and shook her head. 

"It's just for the ballet, Dima. You get a suit, I'll get a dress, it'll all be worth it this evening. I promise." 

"It better be," Dmitry grumbled under his breath. 

"It is!" Anastasia promised. "Now, let's go." 

 


	12. Don’t Leave Me

Dmitry sighed as he entered the Palais Garnier alongside Vlad, both of them awaiting the arrival of Anastasia and Lily. Lily had dragged Anastasia down a hallway the moment she and Dmitry had returned to the estate and Vlad had dragged Dmitry down another. 

Now, standing inside the grand theater, Dmitry felt his nerves rising. Vlad assured him that everything would be fine, but Dmitry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He bent down to tie his shoe, trying to ignore the feeling. His eyes caught sight of something unusual across the room. Russian shoes. No Russian aristocrat in Paris wore those shoes unless they had just gotten off of the train. Dmitry hoped that was the case. 

Dmitry glanced to his left when someone stopped beside him. All he could see was the sparkling blue material of a dress. Dmitry slowly lifted his gaze, seeing Anastasia. He stood up, observing her. She was wearing a strapless royal blue gown that sparkled, white satin gloves that went up to her elbows. Her strawberry blonde hair was pinned back in a beautiful updo, and she wore a bit of makeup. He was certain that was Lily’s doing. 

“You...you look beautiful,” Dmitry tripped over his words. 

“Thank you,” Anastasia beamed. “You look very handsome.” 

“Thank you. Shall we?” He offered his arm to her. She nodded and looped her arm with his. 

* * *

 

Gleb settled in his box. He was sitting across the theater, above the box Anya and Dmitry were sitting in. (Vlad had decided at the last minute to sit with Lily.)

Gleb could see how he was right; that she truly was the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov. Whether she knew it or not, he wasn’t sure, but he knew it would only end one way. 

The pistol that had been securely tucked in his coat pocket seemed to become heavier. Gleb squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. 

The lights in the theater dimmed. He could see Anastasia clearly. He could also see the kitchen boy by her side, glancing his way. Gleb discreetly put his hand in his coat pocket, pulling out the pistol. He cocked it, seeing the Grand Duchess grasp Dmitry’s hand in the other box. 

Slowly, he lifted the pistol and aimed. 

 _Three, two, one,_ he counted silently. Then, he pulled the trigger. 

* * *

 

Dmitry happened to glance up before Gleb pulled the trigger. He immediately moved to where he blocked Anastasia, crying out when the bullet pierced through his skin. Anastasia screamed. Gleb ran. Vlad and Lily and Maria all looked toward the box Anastasia and Dmitry were in. 

Dmitry was clutching his stomach. Anastasia had caught him after he fell. 

“Dmitry, talk to me!” Anastasia pleaded. 

“C-calm down, N-Nastya,” Dmitry breathlessly said. 

His crimson blood stained her white gloves. She didn’t care. 

“Dmitry… oh my God, Dmitry,” Anastasia sobbed. “S-stay with me! No, no, stay with me!” 

Anastasia moved her right hand and caressed his cheek. 

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. Dmitry’s eyes closed. 

* * *

 

Anastasia sat in her bedroom, tears streaming down her face. She had just returned from the hospital, as the nurses had said visiting hours were over. She hadn’t heard anything about Dmitry’s condition. The second they got to the hospital, he had been taken to surgery. 

Anastasia covered her nose and mouth with her hand and sobbed. She didn’t even look up when her door creaked open. 

“Anya...” 

Her eyes flicked up, seeing Vlad. She got up and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around him and crying into his chest. Vlad rubbed her back comfortingly, his arms wrapped around her. 

“H-he s-saved my l-life,” Anastasia cried quietly. 

“Shh… I know,” Vlad whispered. Anastasia’s chest heaved up and down while she cried. She pulled out of the embrace and sniffed. 

“I-I’m sorry.” She walked over to her bed, sitting down on the mattress and curling up into a ball. A pained wail passed through her lips, the Grand Duchess trying to suppress her tears and cries. 

“Anya, we’ll go back first thing in the morning,” Vlad promised. Anastasia sniffed and nodded. “Get some rest.” 

* * *

 

Anastasia sat in Dmitry’s room, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. Silent tears made their way down her pale cheeks. The doctor had said that he should be fine. He’d have to stay there for a few days to ensure the wound wouldn’t get infected, but other than that, he seemed to be fine. Other than the fact he hadn’t woken up yet. 

Dmitry groaned. Anastasia looked up at his face, watching him as he forced his eyes open. His eyes wandered around the room before landing on her. 

“Where... Where am I?” Dmitry mumbled. His voice was raspy. 

“The hospital,” Anastasia sniffed. “Don’t you remember what happened, Dima?” 

Dmitry’s brows furrowed. “No.” 

“You-you were shot, Dmitry.” 

Dmitry blinked. It all came back to him. Gleb had the intent to kill Anastasia without a second thought. He might have been in pain, but Dmitry knew that if he hadn’t glanced over when he did, Anastasia would have been dead. 

“Thank you for saving my life,” she whispered. He winced as he shifted before raising his hand and wiping the tears off of her cheeks. 

“I’d do it again and again if it meant you’d be safe.” 

“I’m sorry. We didn’t think to lay low for a while, to give Nana enough time to do whatever it is she’s going to do with the press. I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Dmitry paused and hissed in pain. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Anastasia ran her fingers through his sweaty hair. He groaned, which caught Vlad’s attention out in the hallway. The two had been talking in whispers, so Vlad hadn’t heard anything. 

When Vlad entered the room, a nurse was behind him. Dmitry was given a shot and was told that it would help his pain. He had grumbled, “I don’t see how,” under his breath. Anastasia looked like she was going to cry again. Dmitry had noticed and lifted his hand, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. 

“Don’t cry,” Dmitry whispered. 

Anastasia sniffed and nodded. He smiled weakly and turned his head to the side. Vlad sighed and shook his head. 

“What’s that look for, old man?” Dmitry jested. Anastasia couldn’t stop the breathless laugh that passed through her lips. 

“You’re in no state to be calling me an old man,” Vlad joked, pulling the wooden chair closer to the bed. “I could easily beat you in a fight this way.” 

“Wouldn’t count,” Dmitry muttered. “It’s not a fair fight.” 

“Precisely my point.” 

Dmitry laughed before gasping. He discovered that laughing was a bad idea. Anastasia scooted her chair closer to him, wiping the sweat off of his brow with her hand. 

“What happened, Dmitry?” Vlad inquired. Dmitry glanced at Vlad. 

“Vaganov,” he grunted. “Vaganov was going to kill her.” 

Anastasia’s eyes widened. Gleb had figured it out. Anastasia held Dmitry’s hand and burst into tears. Dmitry squeezed her hand gently. She looked up at his face, trying to stop her tears. 

“Dima... I’m so sorry,” she whispered. 

“It’s not your fault,” Dmitry hissed. He turned his head toward her, his eyes scanning her face. Dmitry shifted, nearly crying out in pain while he did so. Anastasia placed her other hand on his cheek, rubbing it gently with her thumb. Dmitry closed his eyes, a small smile resting on his lips. Anastasia knew he must have been in pain, yet he smiled and acted like nothing was wrong. 

Dmitry’s breathing evened. Anastasia smiled slightly, continuing to rub his cheek. Vlad could see how she was forcing her tears back. He stood up, walking over to her. 

“I’ll be back in a few moments,” Vlad whispered. Anastasia nodded. Vlad clasped her shoulder, giving it a gentle empathetic squeeze before leaving the room. 

Anastasia let her tears flow silently. She leaned up and kissed his forehead. She sniffed and smoothed his hair back. 

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much. I’ve loved you for years, Dima. I’ve just been too scared to tell you. That’s stupid, isn’t it?” She forced a laugh. “I shouldn’t have been so scared to tell you. I should have listened to you when you said it was getting dangerous. I’m so sorry.” 

* * *

 

When Dmitry woke up, Anastasia’s head was lying on the mattress. She was sleeping. Dmitry shook his head, slightly amused. He smoothed her hair back, trying to keep it off of her face. 

Vlad entered the room, raising a brow when he saw Anastasia. “What happened to her?” 

“I dunno,” Dmitry muttered. “I just woke up.” He flinched slightly when his wound started to hurt again. 

“How’d you know it was Vaganov?” Vlad questioned. 

“I saw him," Dmitry responded. 

Dmitry stroked Anastasia's hair, observing her while she slept. 

"She blames herself." 

Vlad leaned closer. "What?" 

"She blames herself," Dmitry repeated. "I know she does." 

Dmitry grunted as a pain rippled through his torso. He continued to stroke Anastasia's hair. Vlad had gone out to the hall, talking to Lily. Dmitry looked down at Anastasia and whispered, "I love you." 


	13. Blame

A few days later, Dmitry was permitted to leave with Anastasia. 

He was assured that as long as he did what she said, he'd be fine. So, with an arm thrown over Vlad's shoulders, he left the hospital. Anastasia had insisted that he stayed in her room until he was healed, and Dmitry had protested at first, saying that he could stay in his own room. It was when Anastasia threatened to leave him at the hospital he agreed to stay in her room. 

Dmitry was sitting up, pillows propped up behind him. Anastasia entered the room with a tray and sat it on his lap. 

"You need to eat, Dmitry." 

Dmitry licked his lips and shook his head. 

"Please?" 

Dmitry exhaled deeply. 

"Alright." 

Anastasia smiled slightly, turning toward the window.  Dmitry watched her while he ate his soup, noticing how she hadn't quite been herself the past few days. She rubbed her hands together and sighed. 

"What's the matter?" Dmitry asked. Anastasia turned around, her brows furrowed. Dmitry patted the spot beside him. She walked over and climbed onto the bed, sitting beside him. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," Anastasia replied quickly. Dmitry quirked a brow. Anastasia stared down at her hands. 

"Anya, I know something's wrong." 

"Nothing's wrong, Dima." 

* * *

 

“Ow!” Dmitry cried out. 

“I’m sorry,” Anastasia apologized, trying to gently remove the bandage from his skin. Once she had peeled the bandage off of his skin, she threw it away and grabbed a damp cloth, gently cleaning his wound. It had been the same routine for four days. 

Dmitry watched her as she put the cloth on the bedside table before grabbing another bandage and the medical tape she had been given before leaving the hospital. She gently placed the bandage over his wound. After securing it with the tape, she set the tape on the table and grabbed the cloth, leaving the room. 

Anastasia entered the room again, Maria following her. Dmitry hadn’t seen Maria since the night of the ballet. She had been busy handling the press and answering their prying questions, trying to find out more about Dmitry. Maria was a very stubborn woman and hadn’t told them anything except Dmitry was a very kind young man that had known Anastasia for years and that he was doing fine. It also didn’t help her temperament when they kept showing up every day. 

“I must say, I’ve never known of someone who moves to where they’d get hit by a bullet,” Maria spoke. Dmitry forced a chuckle, ignoring the pain in his torso. 

“Your Majesty! They’re back again.” 

Maria rolled her eyes. “Tell them they’ll have to wait a few moments, Lily.” Lily nodded and hurried away. Maria walked over to Dmitry, leaning down and kissing his forehead. “Thank you, Dmitry.” 

Dmitry nodded slightly. She smiled, placing her wrinkled hand on his cheek. Dmitry smiled at her as well. 

“I’ll be back soon. I must deal with them again,” she rolled her eyes. Anastasia laughed. Maria took hold of Dmitry’s hand and squeezed it gently before leaving. Anastasia sat on the side of the bed, smoothing his hair back. 

Dmitry smiled at her. She smiled at him as well, but he saw that it didn’t reach her eyes. Dmitry forced himself to lean forward, pecking her lips before leaning back again. 

“You’re not supposed to do that,” she laughed. Dmitry grinned innocently. Anastasia shook her head and rolled her eyes. She got up and walked around the bed, sitting down beside him. 

“You look tired,” Dmitry noted. “Have you been sleeping?” 

“Not really,” she muttered. 

“Why?” Dmitry questioned, his brows furrowed. 

“I can’t,” Anastasia sighed. She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Dmitry sighed and wrapped his left arm around her. He rubbed her arm, noticing how she started to fall asleep. Dmitry continued to rub her arm, her breathing evened. 

Maria entered the room a few moments later, chuckling when she saw Anastasia. Vlad entered seconds after Maria. He hurried over to Dmitry, sitting beside him on the side of the bed. 

“Anya’s not been herself lately,” Dmitry murmured. “I don’t know what’s wrong. She won’t talk to me.” 

Anastasia shifted against him. Dmitry glanced at her, seeing that she was still sleeping, though her brows were furrowed. Maria sat down on the settee in the room, not caring to have a straight posture. 

Dmitry observed her curiously. She started to murmur incoherent words and phrases, then moved her arm, hitting Dmitry’s stomach. Dmitry winced and bit back a cry of pain, carefully and gently picking her arm up and putting it down by her side. Maria had flinched when Anastasia unknowingly hit his wound. 

Anastasia started to whimper and moved closer to Dmitry. He finally caught one word. Gleb. 

“Hey, hey, wake up,” Dmitry muttered. “Anastasia, wake up.” 

She wouldn’t wake up.

“Anastasia, wake up!” 

Her eyes snapped open. She clung to Dmitry, saying that Gleb was standing in the doorway with the intention to kill her. Dmitry held her close, letting her cry. Her head rested on his chest, Anastasia crying and muttering about Gleb. 

“Shh... he’s not here, Nastya,” Dmitry whispered. Anastasia shook her head. “It was only a dream.” 

* * *

 

Anastasia laid on her bed, her back turned to Dmitry. She had felt extremely guilty for what happened ever since he fell into her arms that night. She couldn't sleep because of it. So, an arm tucked underneath her pillow, her back facing him, she silently cried. Dmitry knew something was wrong, but he didn't say anything. It wouldn't have done him any good. 

She wiped her tears away and closed her eyes. Dmitry sat up and sighed, knowing that she wouldn't talk to him, but he would try anyway. 

"Nastya?" Dmitry's voice pierced the silence that hung over the room. 

"Hm?" Anastasia hummed, her back still facing him. 

"What's wrong?" Dmitry queried. 

"Nothing, why?" Anastasia muttered. 

"I know something's wrong, Anya." 

She stayed silent for a moment. She turned over and sat up. Anastasia got up and walked over to the window, looking out at the streets of Paris. Dmitry stood up, wincing as he did so, but slowly walked over to her. She knew he tried to hide his pain, to make it seem like it didn't hurt as much as it really did, but she knew it hurt him. Dmitry flinched and wrapped his arm around her from behind, putting his head on her shoulder. 

"You want to tell me about it?" 

She giggled at him and nodded. 

"Then tell me," Dmitry murmured in her ear. 

"I... feel so guilty," she admitted. "If I had thought about it before accepting the invitation, it wouldn't have happened. I'm so sorry, Dmitry." 

"It's alright," Dmitry assured her. "It wasn't your fault." 

Anastasia turned around, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"If I hadn't have gone, it wouldn't have happened," she argued. "You would be fine and Vlad wouldn't be worrying so much and the press wouldn't be bothering Nana. I am so sorry." 

"Hey, hey, it's not your fault," Dmitry murmured, rubbing her back. "Stop blaming yourself. You did not cause this." 

Anastasia kept her arms wrapped around him tightly. Dmitry stroked her hair, hushing her softly. 

"Why don't you try to get some sleep now, hm?" Dmitry asked quietly. Anastasia nodded slightly. He smiled and kissed the top of her head, stepping back. Anastasia smiled up at him and shuffled over to her bed, flopping face-first onto it. Dmitry shook his head, an amused smile on his lips. He had learned the hard way that until he was healed, it would hurt when he laughed. Dmitry slowly got back in bed, turning onto his side to where he faced her and cocking a brow.

Dmitry laughed when he saw she had turned her head toward him, a single eye opened, peeking at him. He clutched his stomach after laughing, groaning. Anastasia laughed at that. 

"You know better than to do that," she muttered. Dmitry grumbled under his breath, shifting to get comfortable. Anastasia scooted closer to him, leaning forward and kissing his lips. "Sleep well, Dima." 

* * *

 

"Well, aren't you cheery," Lily remarked as Anastasia entered the dining room. She laughed and went to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and pouring milk into it. She went back to the dining room and sat down next to Lily, who was laughing. Anastasia assumed she had made some sort of joke. 

Maria sat across from Anastasia, the two conversing about Dmitry. Anastasia mentioned how he had laughed last night, groaning after he did it. 

"Is that why you were laughing last night?" Lily asked, picking up her cup of tea. 

"Yes," Anastasia replied. Lily rolled her eyes, Vlad chuckling as he sat down beside Anastasia. 

"Laughing at your wounded friend? That's not very nice, Nastya," Vlad commented. 

"Well, he knows better," Anastasia defended herself. "He was laughing at me anyway." 

Vlad sighed. 

As soon as Anastasia had eaten her breakfast, she headed back up to her room, where Dmitry had moved to the settee. He had been sleeping when she left, which was why she hadn't bothered to ask him if he wanted to go downstairs. As long as he leaned on her, she was sure he could get downstairs with little difficulty. 

"Where have you been, Your Grace?" Dmitry inquired after glancing up at her. 

"Breakfast, Sleeping Beauty. If you had been awake, you could have gone downstairs." 

"Anya," he groaned, "stop calling me that." 

"Only if you stop calling me Your Grace." 

Dmitry rolled his eyes and nodded. Anastasia sat down beside him and grabbed a book. 

"Wanna read for a while?" Dmitry nodded again. 


	14. A Storm / Cold

Dmitry groaned as he woke up. The first thing he noticed was that Anastasia wasn't in the room. The second thing he noticed was the loud crash of thunder and a lightning flash. 

He stood up and padded over to the window, seeing what looked like Anastasia running toward the estate. Dmitry’s brows furrowed as he glanced at the time. Nine a.m. 

His speculation proved to be right when Anastasia entered the room moments later completely drenched. 

“I hate unexpected thunderstorms,” she panted. Dmitry sighed and shook his head. “I went out to get some fruit and I turned and ran when I was half-way there.” 

“It doesn’t look like it helped much,” Dmitry remarked. Anastasia laughed breathlessly. 

“It didn’t.” 

She shook her hands in an attempt to rid the water droplets from them before opening one of her drawers. Anastasia hurriedly found something warm and hurried to the washroom that was attached to her room. Dmitry hadn’t ever noticed it. 

While she was in there, she took a hot back in an attempt to warm herself up and dressed as quickly as she could after she got out. She brushed her dripping hair back and shuffled out to her bedroom, crawling under the thick covers. 

“I am so cold,” she muttered, her teeth chattering. 

“You poor thing,” Dmitry mumbled, glancing over his shoulder at her. An empathetic glance was sent to Anastasia and she accepted it. She was too tired and too cold to decline it and make some witty remark. 

“Oh, shut up,” she mumbled. Dmitry raised a brow in amusement, trying to keep in mind that he couldn’t laugh. “I’m freezing. Leave me alone.” 

Dmitry walked over to her, crouching down and kissing her. He gently rubbed her cheek with his thumb, both of them pulling back after a few seconds. Anastasia smiled, leaning up and kissing him again. 

Dmitry stood upright after pulling away, trying to ease the pain that had erupted in his torso. Anastasia frowned and patted the spot beside her. Dmitry sighed, but he went over and laid down anyway. Anastasia turned over and scooted closer to him, putting her head on his chest. 

Dmitry ran his fingers through her hair. Anastasia yawned. Dmitry chuckled. Anastasia lightly hit his shoulder. 

“That didn’t even hurt.” 

“I didn’t want it to,” she rolled her eyes. Dmitry’s arm wrapped around her waist, Anastasia yawning and setting her head back on the pillow. Dmitry turned over, wrapping both arms around her. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up.” 

“Believe me, nothing could hurt more than the bullet,” he told her. Anastasia sadly chuckled. “Oh, don’t you start crying.” She giggled and pecked his lips. 

“I love you,” she murmured. 

“I love you too,” he muttered. 

* * *

 

Lily knocked on the door to Anastasia’s room. When she received no answer, she opened the door, thinking something might have happened. She saw Dmitry holding Anastasia close to him, both the Grand Duchess and the kitchen boy sleeping. Lily shook her head and went straight to Anastasia’s washroom, as she had been told Anastasia had gone out and got caught in the storm, and picked up the damp clothes that lied on the floor. 

Lily giggled before leaving the room. She headed downstairs, passing the clothes to one of the servants. They thanked the Countess before hurrying away. 

Lily screamed when Vlad jumped out of a shadowy corner. Vlad was laughing. Lily was not. She hit Vlad's shoulder and walked to Maria's study, knocking before entering. Maria was speaking to someone on the phone in French. (Usually, she spoke in Russian, as the Russian aristocrats were usually the ones who phoned.) 

She glanced up when Lily entered, offering a smile to the Countess. Lily sat down on the sofa in the room, waiting for Maria to finish the call. The second Maria finished the call, Lily said, "Your granddaughter got caught in that storm." 

Maria sighed and shook her head.

"She's sleeping now. She might've caught a cold, though. She was half-way to the market when it started pouring," Lily laughed at the last part. Maria shook her head and laughed. 

"Well, let her rest, Lily Malevsky-Malevich. We don't want a grumpy Grand Duchess on our hands, now do we?" 

"No, Your Majesty." 

Maria laughed. 

* * *

"Dima, be careful!" Anastasia scolded. Dmitry huffed like an immature child and let go of the railing to push his hair out of his face. He quickly grabbed the railing again before he lost his balance and tumbled down the stairs, dragging Anastasia with him. Though it would've been funny any other time, he didn't feel like ripping his wound open again. 

"I'm being as careful as I can be, Anya," Dmitry mumbled. Anastasia glanced up at him before stepping down. Dmitry followed suit. And so, it went on like that for a while, Anastasia helping her injured friend down the stairs, even though he claimed he could do it by his self. 

"There you go," Anastasia smiled the moment they stepped onto the tile floor. Dmitry kept his arm wrapped around her shoulders, the two of them walking to the Dowager's study. Anastasia smiled at her grandmother, striking up a conversation with her. Dmitry shook his head and went over to the window. Anastasia sneezed, startling everyone in the room, including herself. 

"Excuse me," she muttered, her cheeks tinted red. Dmitry laughed and shook his head. He'd learned to deal with the pain. It wasn't that bad, he had said. 

"Goodness, child," Maria laughed. Anastasia smiled and shrugged before going over to the bookshelf. "How are you, Dmitry?" 

"Just fine, Your Majesty," Dmitry responded. 

"He's too stubborn to admit when something hurts," Anastasia commented, pulling a thick book off of the shelf. Maria shook her head, amused at the two of them. Anastasia sat down on the sofa and opened her book. 

"Where's Vlad?" Dmitry asked. 

"Down the hall, three doors on the left. Should be the closest door to the staircase." Dmitry nodded and left the room. "How's he really doing?" 

"Better,"  Anastasia responded. "We got down the stairs in five minutes today." 

Maria pursed her lips and nodded. "Has he always been this stubborn?" 

"Usually it's worse," Anastasia laughed. 

Maria laughed as well, shaking her head. The old woman glanced at her granddaughter, who happened to glance at her. The two women burst into a fit of giggles. Anastasia cleared her throat and straightened her posture before going back to reading.  

She sneezed again, followed by a fit of coughs. 

"Well, someone caught a cold," Maria remarked. Anastasia groaned. That was the last thing she needed. She already had her hands full while taking care of Dmitry. 

"I'll get over it in a day or two," she grumbled. Maria raised a brow. Anastasia hesitantly added, "I hope." 


	15. Ghosts

**_One Month Later_ **

“I don’t know, Lily,” Anastasia scratched the back of her head. “I haven’t seen Vladdy all day. Maybe he’s with Dmitry.” 

Lily huffed a sigh and headed to the garden. Anastasia laughed and turned to go to her room, where she planned to change and then go out for the day. After finding Dmitry. 

Anya changed into a blue blouse and skirt, slipping a pair of white heels on. A knock sounded on the door while she was brushing her hair. 

"Come in!" Anastasia called out. The door opened to reveal Dmitry. "Bonjour, Monsieur Sudayev." 

"Common man's language, Anya," Dmitry chided, walking over to her. He bent down and kissed her cheek. Anastasia wrinkled her nose, causing Dmitry to laugh. 

“You’re having a rather easy time getting around,” Anastasia remarked, glancing at Dmitry using the mirror. 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he shrugged. Anastasia nodded before starting to braid her hair. Once she had secured the braid with a ribbon, she turned and looked at Dmitry. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” 

* * *

 

Anastasia stirred uncomfortably in her sleep. She woke up a moment later in a cold sweat. Not wanting to bother anybody, she grabbed her robe and pulled it on before walking downstairs and out the back door. She stood on the small veranda there, breathing in the cool summer night air. 

Anastasia shivered slightly. She caught sight of something glowing beside her and turned to see what it was. She nearly screamed when she saw him. Gleb Vaganov. 

“I must be going crazy,” she muttered. Gleb laughed heartily and shook his head. 

“No, you’re not going crazy, Anya,” he assured her. “I’m glowing. I’m dead. Or at least, I think I am. The last thing I remember is a blindfold being tied.” 

"They killed you, then," Anastasia gulped. "Why?" 

"Why not? They send the Deputy Commissioner to Paris to retrieve an innocent little street sweeper claiming to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov. He returns and claims that she's dead. That he shot her during the ballet. They read through the Parisian papers and see that I didn't hit you, but the boy instead." 

"You were really going to kill me?" 

"A possibility," he nodded. "I didn't want to kill you, I assure you, but orders are orders, Anya. I must follow them like everyone else." 

Anastasia looked at him with understanding in her eyes. "I am so sorry I caused this." 

"Don't be," he waved it off. "Even if you weren't the Grand Duchess, they still would have killed me. I went back without any proof." 

"Come inside, Gleb. It looks as though it's about to rain." Gleb nodded and followed her inside. She led him to her grandmother's study, sitting down on the sofa. He sat down in the armchair across from her. It was odd, she admitted to herself, seeing the Deputy Commissioner that she had feared look so vulnerable and bewildered. He gazed around the room, nearly scowling when his eyes landed on a portrait of her father. 

"He wasn't that bad, you know. There are two sides to every story." 

"Indeed," Gleb muttered. "I'm not so sure I want to hear it, though."

"You probably don't," she chuckled. "It's awfully gruesome." 

Gleb laughed and shook his head. He figured that much. He wasn't so sure he wanted to hear about how she had escaped, how she had seen their dead bodies, how she watched  _his father_ kill her hemophiliac brother. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in her side of the story, it was just that he wasn't sure she'd be able to take it. 

Of course, she lived with the memories - the images embedded in her mind, yet she seemed to be fine. His own father had died ashamed of what he did. He had killed her brother, father, and sister. He had shot at her, too. Just as she ran across the ballroom. He lost her in the crowd of people and had figured she had been hit. 

"I'm sorry for what my father did." 

"All is forgiven," Anastasia assured him. He smiled at her. "I hope you can forgive me for being the cause of your death. If it weren't for me, you'd still be living." 

"It's not your fault, Your Highness." 

"Oh, no, I've given up the title," Anastasia shook her head. "I don't want it." 

Gleb's eyes widened. "What?" 

"I gave it up. I was a Grand Duchess for seventeen years. That's good enough for me." 

He started to laugh quietly, shaking his head. He had shot at an innocent girl and had ended up hitting an innocent boy. She had given up the title. They had failed to mention that in Leningrad. The kitchen boy suddenly crossed his mind again. 

"Is he alright?" Gleb asked suddenly. 

"Dmitry? Oh, yes, he's just fine," Anastasia responded swiftly. "He's recovered nicely." 

Gleb hummed and glanced up at her. "I suppose now would be as good a time as any to apologize. I'm dreadfully sorry. I should have talked to you first." 

"It's alright, Gleb. All is forgiven," she smiled softly at him. "Though talking would have solved a lot of issues." 

Gleb laughed and nodded. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so much. Usually, he forced a smile and nodded, but while talking to her, he found that she was intelligent and witty. Everything a Grand Duchess usually wasn't. Intelligent, yes, royalty was always intelligent. But not like her. She had street smarts, too. 

"Do you mind if I go back to bed?" Anastasia yawned. "I can meet you here tomorrow night if you want me to." 

"Alright. Get some rest." 

She smiled before standing and leaving the room. Gleb was left alone, him glancing around the room again. He found it strange that he could see perfectly in the dark, but he certainly wasn't complaining. He stood up and sighed before seeming to disappear into thin air. 


	16. Something Crazy

Dmitry glanced up at Anastasia, a brow raised. 

"Dima, I want to do something crazy," she huffed, sitting down beside him on the sofa. 

"You did do something crazy, remember?" He gave her a stern look. Anastasia laughed. "I didn't appreciate you locking me outside in the rain." 

"I love you," she grinned innocently. 

"You're lucky I love you." 

Anastasia giggled and wrapped her arms around his arm, putting her head against his shoulder. She stayed like that for a moment, seeming to be thinking something over. 

“Dima… let’s do something crazy.” 

“What?” Dmitry’s brows furrowed. Anastasia looked up at him and grinned. 

“Let’s get married.” 

* * *

 

“I’m not the one telling your grandmother,” Dmitry said immediately after they stepped out of the church. Anastasia laughed. “What made you think that eloping would be a good idea?” 

“Everything,” Anastasia said dramatically. “I didn’t want a normal wedding.” 

“You are ridiculous,” Dmitry rolled his eyes. 

“But you still love me,” Anastasia smiled. Dmitry nodded and laughed. He did love her. He loved her very much. 

Anastasia reached over and grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers. She giggled as they walked down the streets of Paris. Dmitry chuckled and shook his head. The two walked back to the estate, Anastasia looking up at Dmitry, beaming. He sighed, glancing at the estate, then at her. Anastasia pulled him up on the veranda and twisted the doorknob. She huffed once she discovered it was locked. 

She knocked on the door. Dmitry rubbed the back of his neck nervously. How were they going to explain it to Vlad, Lily, and Maria? The door opened, revealing Vlad. He looked at the two of them and stepped outside, gently closing the door behind him. 

“What did you do?” he demanded. Anastasia and Dmitry glanced at each other. 

Anastasia took a deep breath and whispered, “We got married.” 

* * *

 

Dmitry rubbed his temples, trying to get rid of his pounding headache. He was certain Anastasia was sleeping, for she hadn’t said anything in nearly half an hour. Usually - more specifically rainy days - she’d make remarks about the weather and how she wished it would be sunny. He hadn’t heard a single remark about the weather that day. Of course, she had been too busy locking him outside and deciding to marry him. 

“Anya? Are you awake?” Dmitry finally looked up to see her curled up on the settee. He chuckled and walked over to where she was, lifting her and putting her in her bed. He covered her with her thick blanket and kissed her forehead. Dmitry sat down on the settee, picking up a book and opening it. 

Sometime later, the door to the bedroom opened, revealing Vlad. Dmitry looked up then. 

"I knocked," Vlad shrugged.

"Oh, I didn't hear you. Sorry," Dmitry mumbled. 

"It's alright," Vlad chuckled. "How are you two?" 

"Good. Anya's sleeping. I guess she didn't sleep much last night or something," the younger of the two shrugged. Vlad hummed and sat down next to Dmitry. Dmitry glanced over at Anastasia, who turned over and exhaled deeply in her sleep. 

"When were you going to ask her to marry you?" Vlad asked, shifting to get comfortable. 

"I don't know,"  Dmitry sighed. "I had planned on doing it soon. She beat me to it." 

Vlad laughed and shook his head. Dmitry leaned back and yawned. He snapped the book shut and set it on the table. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked over at Vlad. Vlad rolled his eyes, causing Dmitry to laugh. 

"Did you sleep last night?" 

"Who? Me? I never sleep," Dmitry remarked. Vlad shot him a stern look. "I slept for about an hour." 

"How are you still living?" Vlad sighed, rubbing his temples. Dmitry shrugged. 

Anastasia screamed and sat upright, startling Dmitry and Vlad. Dmitry got up and ran over to her, wrapping his arms around her. She clung to his arm, her head resting on his chest while she took deep breaths, trying to calm down. Vlad watched with idle curiosity. 

Dmitry was stroking her hair, murmuring comforting phrases to her. Anastasia calmed down a few moments later. She whimpered quietly, refusing to let go of Dmitry. Dmitry held her. 

"What's the matter?" Dmitry whispered. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear and sorrow and regret. She shook her head slightly. Dmitry nodded, knowing that she wasn't in the mood to talk. 

* * *

 

"Dima! Dima, it happened again!" Anastasia shook Dmitry awake. "Dima, please, wake up!" 

"What is it?" he mumbled groggily. 

"It happened again!" 

Dmitry pulled her close to him. Anastasia freely sobbed into his chest, Dmitry rubbing her back. 

"Shh... it's alright, Nastya. Calm down, shh..." 

However, Anastasia couldn't seem to calm down. Her sobs became louder, her breathing more shallow. 

"Breathe, Nastya, breathe!" Dmitry sat up, pulling her up with him. Anastasia let out a choked sob. 

"I can't," she whispered. 

"Yes, you can. Look at me, hey, look at me. Deep breaths. Just like this." Dmitry took a deep breath, holding it until she took one as well. He then exhaled, her doing the same. They sat there for several minutes, Anastasia's breathing slowly returning to normal. 

"There you go," Dmitry smiled. Anastasia smiled slightly before laying down again. Dmitry laid down as well, turning to where he faced her. Anastasia scooted closer to him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. Dmitry wrapped his arms around her as well, kissing the top of her head. 

"Thank you, Dima," she yawned. 

"Anytime, Your Grace." 


	17. Happiness / Worry

_**One Year Later** _

A baby's cry pierced the silence in the room. Anastasia groaned and poked Dmitry's shoulder. 

"It's your turn." 

Dmitry groaned and got up, shuffling over to the crib. He lifted the baby, holding her against his chest. He tried to rock her back to sleep, swaying her back and forth in his arms. Dmitry eventually gave up on that and stood by the window with the baby cradled in his arms, as it seemed the babe just wanted to be held. 

Anastasia opened one eye, peeking over at them. She giggled before turning over, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. 

"What are you doing?" she murmured as she approached Dmitry. 

"She won't go back to sleep," he mumbled. 

"Give her to me," Anastasia sighed. "I'll try to get her back to sleep." 

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Dmitry countered. Anastasia gave him a stern look, to which he handed the babe to her. Anastasia kissed her forehead. Dmitry watched her as she swayed back and forth, trying to lull their daughter to sleep. 

Anastasia yawned and blinked a few times.  She tried to wake herself up. Dmitry looked down at her, a brow raised. Vlad had seen the two of them earlier and had let out a cry of surprise, then remarked that they looked half dead. Anastasia had laughed and said that they were half dead. 

Anastasia looked up at Dmitry, a small smile forming on her lips. He bent down and kissed her, Anastasia giggling after he did so. She looked down at the baby in her arms. The baby had the shape of her eyes -- the Romanov eyes -- but had Dmitry's eye color. She had small tufts of dark hair on top of her head. She had Anastasia's nose, though. 

"Anya, why don't you get some sleep?" Dmitry inquired. Anastasia shook her head, holding the baby against her chest. Dmitry laughed quietly and shook his head. “Alright.” 

“Aw, why are you crying, Alexandra?” Anastasia cooed, trying to soothe the wailing baby. Dmitry watched her as she rocked Alexandra back and forth, humming the Romanov lullaby to her. That lulled her to sleep. Anastasia put the child back in her crib before shuffling over to the bed. 

Dmitry glanced out the window before walking over to the bed. He fell asleep the instant his head hit his pillow. Anastasia stared at the ceiling for a few moments before turning over. 

* * *

 

Alexandra was crying when Dmitry woke up. He got up and hurried over to her, trying to quiet her down before she woke Anastasia, who desperately needed sleep. He changed Alexandra, then scooped her up in his arms again. Dmitry planted a kiss on her cheek. 

After laying Alexandra on his side of the bed, he went to the dresser, grabbing a shirt and a pair of trousers. He changed quickly before lifting Alexandra again, heading downstairs. The least he could do was give Anastasia an extra twenty minutes of sleep. 

Dmitry rounded the corner, entering the study. Maria looked up at him and smiled, giggling gleefully when she saw her great-granddaughter. She stood up and walked over to Dmitry, gladly taking the baby from him. 

“Why don’t you get some sleep, Dmitry? You look like you need it.” 

“I’m alright,” he insisted. Maria sighed and shook her head. It seemed as though Vlad and Anastasia were the only ones who could knock some sense into his head. Knowing Anastasia was still asleep, she left to find Vlad. 

Dmitry rubbed his eyes and walked over to the window. He gazed out at the streets of Paris. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of arms wrapped around his waist. He heard Anastasia’s giggle and turned around. 

“What’re you doing?” she yawned. 

“Looking out the window,” Dmitry shrugged in response. “What are you doing?” 

“Looking for you. I already know Nana has the baby,” Anastasia murmured. “I woke up and you were gone. I thought something had happened.” 

“No. I was trying to let you sleep, Your Grace.” 

Anastasia rolled her eyes and stood on her tiptoes, kissing Dmitry. After she pulled away, she laid her head on his chest, trying to suppress a yawn. 

“Come on, Nastya,” he sighed. “You need to rest.” 

“No. What I need is about ten cups of coffee,” she mumbled against the fabric of his shirt. Dmitry giggled. 

“Then you’d be bouncing off the walls.” 

“Exactly my point.” 

Dmitry kissed the top of her head, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and her lips. Anastasia giggled gleefully. Dmitry traced circles on her back between her shoulder blades. 

“Stop, you’re making me sleepy,” she yawned. Dmitry laughed. Anastasia kept her head against his chest. 

“Come on. You are going back to bed.” Anastasia groaned as Dmitry lifted her. He carried her upstairs to their bedroom, where he covered her with the thick blanket. Anastasia fought to stay awake. 

Dmitry chuckled before laying down beside her. She turned over and scooted closer to him. He turned over as well, wrapping his arms around her. 

* * *

 

Anastasia cradled Alexandra in her arms. She smiled down at the baby, giggling when Alexandra made some sort of noise. She rubbed the infant’s cheek gently with her thumb. Alexandra simply stared up at Anastasia. 

Dmitry had gone with Vlad to the city, claiming he had errands to run. That left Lily, Anastasia, Maria, and Alexandra alone for the most part. The servants hardly ever made their presence known. 

"Anya?" 

"Dima?" She turned to the doorway, seeing Dmitry standing there. "What are you doing?" 

"Nothing," he shrugged. Anastasia raised a brow but didn't say anything. She turned around again, trying to straighten Alexandra's outfit. She felt something go around her neck. She rolled her eyes and laughed when she saw the locket. 

"Nothing, huh?" Anastasia teased. Dmitry laughed and sat down beside her. "Thank you, Dima. It's a lovely necklace." 

"Think nothing of it," Dmitry smiled. 

Within the past year, Dmitry had found a job. He worked almost every day (except Saturday and Sunday) and made a fair wage. They 'rented' the room they lived in from the Dowager Empress, which was "agreed" on because they both stubbornly insisted. Maria, however, would wait until they were both out strolling the streets to hide the money around their room, only for them to think it was money that they had misplaced. Lily would always help Maria hide the money while Vlad stood at the window, watching for them. 

"Are you alright, Dima?" 

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. So much has changed within a year... it's crazy," he laughed. 

"Yes. But sometimes, change is for the better," Anastasia smiled. "I mean, if we had stayed in Russia, we'd both be dead by now." 

They shuddered at the thought. Dmitry had saved her life twice, and he'd do it again, no question about it, but the thoughts of her being shot sent an unnerving chill down his spine. Anastasia was quick to change the subject, directing it to Alexandra. 

"Do you miss it?" Dmitry suddenly questioned. 

"Russia?" Anastasia muttered. He nodded. "Sometimes. Do you?" 

"Every now and then," he admitted. "I thought I'd never miss it, but I do. I catch myself comparing Paris to Petersburg." 

Dmitry took Alexandra from Anastasia's arms, as he could tell her arms were getting tired. Anastasia put her head on his shoulder and sighed. 

"The Bolsheviks know I'm still alive... Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov. My surname has caused so much trouble," she muttered. "It's unbelievable." She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. 

"They won't cause any trouble. They can't! We're in Paris and they're in Russia." 

"Bolshevik spies are everywhere, Dmitry," Anastasia sighed. "What if they send one to Paris... just to kill me?" 

"They won't," Dmitry spoke swiftly. "They already sent Vaganov." 

"I sincerely hope you're right," Anastasia murmured. 


	18. Watched / Followed

Anastasia walked out of the small bakery, a pastry in her hand. She took a bite of it before turning to the left, walking down the street. Though she knew Dmitry would argue that a pastry wasn't a filling food, she didn't really care, as she happened to have a sweet tooth. 

She finished eating the pastry before entering the clothing shop she was supposed to go to. Lily had said something about Ms. Chanel wanting her to try a new dress she had designed. Anastasia directly went to the staircase that was hidden in the back of the shop, glancing around before hurrying up the stairs. 

"Anastasia?" 

"It's me, Madame," Anastasia spoke as she closed the door to the room behind her. Dresses and blouses and skirts and shoes littered the room, as well as loose fabrics and other sewing materials. Mannequins were piled up in each corner, some displayed in the center of the room with a complete outfit. Others had a shirt or a skirt that wasn't quite finished wrapped around them. Anastasia was in awe each time she came to Chanel's shop. It was most definitely the best one, in her opinion. 

"Try this gown on for me, would you dear?" Ms. Chanel passed a red gown to Anastasia. 

"Yes, of course," Anastasia nodded. "What for, if I may ask?" 

"Oh, just to see how it looks on a real person. And to hem it up," the older woman chuckled in response. "It's much too long, and I don't want to get it too short." 

Anastasia laughed and nodded. She'd been through the same situation plenty of times. It always ended with her leaving with a design no one had seen before hidden within a black bag. 

"How's your baby?" 

"Oh, she's just fine," Anastasia beamed. "Starting to look more and more like Dmitry, too." 

Ms. Chanel laughed. Anastasia came back into the woman’s line of sight, allowing her to see the red gown. Ms. Chanel clapped her hands together and laughed gleefully. She hurried over to Anastasia, a needle and a spool of thread in her hands. 

“We’ll just hem it up a bit,” Ms. Chanel muttered as she knelt to hem the gown. Anastasia laughed and stood completely still. “How are you doing?” 

“Well enough,” Anastasia chuckled. 

“How much sleep do you get?” Ms. Chanel glanced up at Anastasia. 

“An average of about three hours.” 

Ms. Chanel shook her head. She finished hemming the gown and stood up. She smiled at Anastasia before hurrying over to the desk in the room. A desk that had scattered papers covering its surface. The woman shifted the papers around, in search of something in particular. 

Anastasia had gone to change back into her simple purple dress. She returned with the gown in her hands. 

“Thank you, dear. Just put it over there,” she pointed to a far corner in the room. 

* * *

 

Anastasia yawned and shivered. The weather had started to change. Autumn was approaching quickly, much to her disappointment. The warm sunny weather she adored was slowly fading away. 

Anastasia stopped walking. She felt someone watching her. She kept walking, taking several turns that went in a circle. The feeling never went away. Anastasia felt panic arising within her. Her grip on the bag in her hands tightened as she began to bolt. She didn’t stop running until she was safely inside her grandmother’s estate. 

Panting, Anastasia bent over and put her hands on her knees. Dmitry rounded the corner, dirt smudged on his cheek. 

“What happened to you?” he queried. Anastasia held up her index finger to silently say, “hold on.” 

Dmitry walked over to her, her standing up straight. He could see the panic in her eyes. She threw her arms around him, trying desperately hard to catch her breath. 

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” 

“I... think... someone was... following... me,” she panted. Dmitry kissed her temple, trying to calm her down. Anastasia caught her breath a moment later. “I swear, Dima, someone was following me. I circled a street near Ms. Chanel’s shop to make sure I wasn’t just imagining it, and it never left. I ran all the way back.” 

“My God, Nastya,” Dmitry muttered. He moved and slightly shifted the curtain, peeking out of the window. Servants were scattered across the lawn pulling weeds, a man standing near the gate Dmitry recognized from the Neva Club. Count Leopold, he recalled. “There’s no one out there but Count Leopold and the servants.” 

Anastasia peeked out of the other window. “Someone followed me, I swear!” 

“I know, I know, I have no doubt of that. Whoever it was, they’re gone now.” Dmitry moved away from the window, moving closer to Anastasia, who was still gazing out the window. "We'll figure it out, Anya. Come on. I'm sure you didn't eat anything but sweets while you were out." 

* * *

 

"Are you certain?" Lily quietly asked Dmitry. Dmitry nodded. "Someone followed her?" 

"Yes," Dmitry nodded again. "She wouldn't run all the way here if there wasn't." 

Lily sighed and stood up. "I'll tell Her Majesty about it. She'll know what to do." 

* * *

 

"I'm not crazy, Dmitry," Anastasia sighed as she entered the bedroom. Dmitry looked up at her, his brows furrowed. "Someone followed me." 

"'I have no doubt of that. You've still got royal blood in your veins, Nastya. People are bound to know it." 

"But how?!" Anastasia exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "Nana made sure they didn't know!" 

"Some people can recognize royalty, Anya," Dmitry shrugged. 

Anastasia huffed a sigh of defeat as she sat down on the bed. She looked over at  Dmitry, timidly asking, "Do you think it might have been a Red Russian?" 

Dmitry looked at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. 

"I don't know, maybe," he muttered. He watched as panic and fear slowly welled up in her eyes. "I'm not saying that it was. I'm just saying it's a possibility that we can't ignore. I've got to keep you safe. That's my main concern." 

Anastasia slowly nodded, then laid down, pulling the blanket up to her shoulder. 

"If it was a Red Russian, what are we going to do?" Anastasia whispered. 

"I don't know," Dmitry sighed. "We'll figure it out, alright?" 

"Mhm," she hummed. "Goodnight, Dima." 

"Goodnight, Anastasia." 


	19. A Red Russian's Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me.

A figure moved swiftly through the streets, like a shadow. Finding out that the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov was a difficult task, but he had managed to pull it off. And he intended to kill her. 

He had followed her to her grandmother's estate, then turned and ran once he saw Count Leopold's automobile approaching the estate. 

Now, stalking the streets of Paris, Konstantin couldn’t help but think of ways to eliminate the Grand Duchess. The Romanov bloodline was one that deserved to be ended, in his opinion, and he’d do everything he could to ensure that. 

* * *

 

“It wasn’t paranoia!” Anastasia insisted. She tugged at her hair, a shaky sigh passing through her lips. “Someone followed me yesterday. I don’t know who it was, but they were following me.” 

Dmitry — who had Alexandra in his arms — simply watched as Anastasia insisted that someone had followed her home. They had gathered in Maria’s study, trying to figure out what they should do about the situation. Vlad had said it might have been paranoia, which had led to the current situation. 

Lily sighed, Maria shook her head, Dmitry glanced down at Alexandra. Vlad was trying to defend himself. Anastasia sighed and rubbed her temples. 

“Someone followed me home,” she repeated. “They followed me here. I don’t know where they went, but _someone_ followed me!” 

Dmitry glanced at Maria, who glanced at him and shrugged. Until they came to an agreement on what to do, they’d sit in that room. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Dmitry spoke up. “We will. Until then, you’re not going anywhere by yourself. It’s too dangerous, especially since we don’t know who it is.” 

“He's right,” Maria agreed. “It’s far too dangerous for you to leave this estate by yourself. We’ll figure out who it is, and if it happens again, we’ll tell the police about it.” 

“Alright,” Anastasia whispered. “That sounds alright to me.” 

“Good. It’s agreed, then,” Dmitry grinned. “You won’t leave the estate by yourself. If it happens again, at least someone will be with you.” 

Anastasia nodded slightly. She got up, Dmitry following her. He knew what the look on her face meant. They went to their room, Anastasia seeming to collapse in the middle of the floor. Dmitry heard a choked sob. 

He set Alexandra in her crib (as she was sleeping anyway) and walked over to Anastasia, kneeling in front of her. He pulled her upper body up, letting her lean against him. 

“I’m so frightened,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go back out.” 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dmitry assured her, rubbing her back. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” 

Dmitry slowly placed his hand on the back of her head, murmuring soft, gentle phrases to her. Dmitry let her stay as close to him as possible. A crack of thunder pulled his gaze to the window and caused Anastasia to scream. 

“Shh... shh, it’s just thunder, Nastya,” Dmitry murmured. Anastasia buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Everything’s alright. Calm down.” 

Anastasia sniffed and wrapped her arms around him. The tears she was holding back were threatening to spill out on her face. Anastasia let out a shaky sigh. She flinched when another crack of thunder sounded. 

Dmitry tried to calm her down. It didn’t do much good, however, as she was nearly hysterical. She hadn’t slept much the night before and her fears were seeming to become reality. He wasn’t sure as to what he should do to calm her down. When she slept, it only caused nightmares that scared her half to death. 

“Dima,” she whimpered, “what do we do if it’s a Red Russian?” 

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” She nodded. “Now come on. Let’s get off this floor.” 

* * *

 

Konstantin slowly rounded the corner, seeing Anastasia with an older man. Their backs were to him, just as he hoped they would be. He had to be extremely cautious, as one wrong move could alert them of his presence. He slowly pulled the pistol out of his pocket, raising it and aiming at Anastasia's back. All he had to do was pull the trigger once he got closer. He cautiously stepped closer, as they had stopped to rest for a moment. 

Konstantin moved his aim to her lower back. A slow death for an evil person, in his mind. He pulled the trigger and ran, the echoes of a scream filling the near-empty Parisian streets. 


	20. My Fault

Vlad caught Anastasia as she slumped, nearly unconscious. He picked her up, running to the nearest hospital. The old man was wheezing by the time he got there. The nurses took her from him, leaving Vlad in the waiting room. 

"Does she have any living relatives? A husband, mother, father, siblings?" a nurse questioned. Vlad nodded. "You might want to get them. You can use the phone over there to call them." 

"Thank you," Vlad muttered. He hurried over to the phone. 

* * *

 

"Woah, woah, wait a minute,  _what?_ " Dmitry queried, trying to understand a babbling Vlad on the phone. 

"I-I--oh God, Dmitry, you're going to kill me! Anya's been shot!" Vlad babbled. 

" _What do you mean Anya's been shot?!_ " 

"Just get to the hospital, and hurry!" 

Dmitry hung up and ran upstairs to grab his coat. He came back downstairs, sweeping the infant off of the sofa in the Dowager's study and hurrying toward the door, trying to explain the situation to Ilya as quickly as he could. Dmitry got in the automobile, holding Alexandra against his chest. 

* * *

 

"What the devil happened?!" Dmitry demanded the instant he found Vlad. 

"I don't know! We had stopped to rest for a moment and there was a gunshot. Anya started to fall to the ground with a bullet hole in her back," Vlad explained quickly. Dmitry sighed. "Before you ask, there hasn't been any news yet." 

Dmitry slumped in a chair, holding Alexandra as close to him as possible. 

"Did you tell the Dowager?" Vlad asked, glancing over at Dmitry. 

"No, she's not home. Lily took her with her down to the Neva Club to sort out some problem or something." 

Tears pricked at Dmitry's eyes. He hadn't cried in what felt like forever, and he wasn't too keen on doing it in a hospital waiting room. Dmitry bit down on his lower lip and looked down at Alexandra, rubbing the infant's cheek with his thumb. Dmitry sniffed and shifted in his seat. Vlad glanced at him again, seeing how worried he was. Dmitry's foot seemed to be controlling itself as it tapped anxiously against the floor. 

Dmitry kept his gaze on Alexandra. He could see the similarities she shared with Anastasia. That broke him. Tears sprung from his eyes. Vlad handed him a handkerchief and sympathetically patted his shoulder. Dmitry hadn’t ever really looked for similarities between Anastasia and Alexandra, but now that he did, he could see them. 

“She’ll be alright,” Vlad tried to be positive. “She’s a fighter, you know.” 

Dmitry nodded slightly and wiped the tears off of his face. His eyes locked with Alexandra’s. Two sets of amber eyes gazing into the other, one with the eye shape of the Romanovs. Dmitry lifted her, smiling sadly. He leaned forward and kissed the tip of the baby’s nose, causing her to make a gurgling sound. Dmitry quietly laughed at that. 

He brought her close to his chest again, holding her close. He kissed the top of her head, Alexandra’s cheek pressed against his shoulder. 

Vlad twiddled his thumbs, trying to keep positive. He couldn’t help but wonder what was happening... if she was alright — well if she was going to survive the situation. He had watched Dmitry’s eyes go from bright and full of life to dull and self-hate in what seemed like seconds. The same way Anastasia’s had when he was the one that was shot. Vlad — being the closest thing Dmitry had to a father — grasped his hand, making him look at him. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

* * *

 

“Anya Sudayev’s family, I suppose?” 

Dmitry’s eyes snapped up. He nodded and pinched Vlad’s arm, as the old man had fallen asleep in his chair. 

“She’s come through the surgery just fine. She hasn’t woken up yet, but the doctor thinks that she will soon. If you want to see her before you leave, you’re welcome to.” 

Dmitry nodded. He and Vlad stood and followed the nurse down the hallway, turning to the left and walking down another. They stopped at room 24. The nurse pushed the door open, allowing them inside. Dmitry felt his heart break the instant he saw her. 

Vlad took Alexandra from Dmitry, watching the young man bend down and kiss his wife’s forehead. 

“I love you,” he whispered it so softly Vlad couldn’t hear it. Forcing his tears back, Dmitry turned and left the room. Vlad followed suit. 

* * *

 

Dmitry had locked himself in the bedroom, and no one could get him to open the door. Alexandra had been left with Lily the instant they got home, only to have Dmitry race up the stairs, locking himself in their room. A tear slid down his pale face, then another. 

Dmitry wanted to be alone. He knew that if he said anything, his voice would crack, so he said nothing. He hadn’t ever felt the way he did at that point. Like everything that happened was his fault. He was the reason she was lying in a hospital unconscious, he was the reason she had been shot, he was the reason she wasn’t there with him and her family. 

He heard the lock click and sighed. He looked up and saw Vlad and Lily, both looked extremely concerned. Dmitry wiped his tears. 

“Dmitry,” Vlad sighed, “locking yourself in here and ignoring everyone isn’t going to help.” 

Dmitry averted his gaze, trying desperately hard not to cry. Lily walked over to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the room. 

“There’s someone you need to see.” 

Dmitry was dragged down the hall to Maria’s room. Lily pulled him inside and left a moment after. Maria glanced up from where she was sitting and sadly smiled, patting the spot beside her on the blue settee. Dmitry hesitantly shuffled over to her and sat down. 

“You haven’t said a word since you came back,” Maria spoke quietly. Dmitry’s eyes flicked up, meeting the old woman’s for a second before they were averted to staring at the floor again. Maria gazed at him, her eyes scanning his posture and face. Quietly, she uttered, “Surely you don’t blame yourself for this.” 

Dmitry didn’t say a word. Even if he denied it, she would know he was lying. She always knew when someone was lying to her. 

“Dmitry, it was not and is not your fault.” 

Dmitry glanced at Maria. Tears welled in his eyes again. His hands were shaking when he lifted them to rub his temples. 

“I can’t even keep her safe,” he shakily whispered. “I-I thought she’d be alright. I didn’t know that whoever was following her intended to kill her. Oh God.” 

Maria watched as the former kitchen boy seemed to shatter into pieces. She stood and found one of her handkerchiefs and handed it to him. 

“It’s not your fault, Dmitry,” Maria muttered as she sat down again. Dmitry shook his head. “It’s alright, Dmitry. It’s not your fault.” 

Dmitry wiped his tears and sniffed. More tears replaced the ones he had wiped away, much to his chagrin. Maria sighed. She couldn’t seem to get through to him. 

Dmitry looked over at Maria. He rubbed his forehead with his eyes closed. 

“You need to rest, Dmitry. It’s getting late,” Maria took hold of his hand and gently squeezed it. Dmitry slightly nodded. He folded Maria’s handkerchief and gave it back to her. She smiled sadly, taking it from him. Dmitry stood, wiping his tears as he shuffled to the door. 

* * *

 

Dmitry’s eyes snapped open when he heard Alexandra crying. He pushed the blanket off of him. He rushed over to her crib, lifting her and holding her close to him. 

“What is it?” he whispered. She stopped crying when she heard his voice. Dmitry held her against his chest, carrying her back over to the bed. He sat down on it, using his right hand to rub his eyes. 

He had (finally) dozed off before Alexandra had started to cry. He didn’t mind. He knew that his sleep would only be filled with nightmares. 

Dmitry kissed Alexandra’s forehead. He looked down at her, the baby wrapping her fingers around his finger. He sadly giggled, using his thumb to rub her fingers. 

”I know you don’t understand what’s going on, but your mother will be just fine. She’s a strong woman. If something happened to her... or to you... I don’t know what I’d do,” he whispered softly. “The two of you keep my world turning. I couldn’t live without you.” 

Alexandra stared up at him. He leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of the infant’s forehead. Dmitry glanced at the window. Pale blue moonlight streamed through the window. Dmitry looked down at Alexandra again. 

“I am so sorry,” he muttered. “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.” 


	21. I'm Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive any mistakes! This was written on mobile.

Dmitry sat in a wooden chair by Anastasia's bedside. He hadn't said a word the entire day to Vlad, Lily, or Maria. He didn't speak to Ilya either. Lily had taken Alexandra with her, saying that a hospital was no place for a healthy baby. Dmitry held Anastasia's hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. 

"Anya... I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm going to say it anyway," he murmured. "You've gotta wake up. Please, wake up, Anya. I love you... I'm so sorry. It's all my fault, I'm so sorry." 

He laid his head on the mattress beside her, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed. 

"I-I never thought they'd try to kill you. I'm sorry, Anya." 

* * *

 

Dmitry hadn't moved for hours. It was when he felt Anastasia's fingers run through his hair he lifted his head. 

"Anya... oh my God," he whispered. Anastasia's eyes scanned his face, her groaning in pain soon after she woke up. 

"Dima... what happened?" Anastasia murmured. 

"You were shot," he mumbled. Anastasia hummed and turned her head toward the door. "The police are looking for the person who did it." 

She looked back at Dmitry, her eyes seeming to fill with worry. "Where's Alexandra?" 

"With Lily." 

Anastasia gritted her teeth, grunting in pain. Dmitry smoothed her hair back, standing and bending down to kiss her forehead. He left the room for a moment, leaving her alone. Anastasia whimpered quietly. 

Dmitry returned with a nurse, who gave her an injection that would help the pain. Dmitry hadn't ever felt as guilty as he did then. He scooted the chair closer and sat down in it. The nurse left the room after checking her pulse and temperature. 

Anastasia looked at Dmitry and grasped his hand. Dmitry forced a smile. 

"I never knew one wound could hurt so much," Anastasia mumbled. Dmitry nodded. "What happened, anyway? Before I got shot, I mean." 

"From what Vlad can guess, whoever was following the two of you got close enough to shoot you." 

Anastasia let out a 'hmph' and rubbed Dmitry's hand. She whimpered quietly. Dmitry took his free hand and smoothed her hair back. 

“Where’s Vlad?” 

“With Lily,” Dmitry murmured. Anastasia nodded. 

“What about Nana?” Anastasia mumbled. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I left before she came downstairs this morning.” 

Anastasia hummed and shifted, wincing as she did so. She couldn’t get comfortable. Anastasia slowly turned onto her side, stuffing her arm under her pillow. She took hold of Dmitry’s hand again, only this time she used her left hand. 

“I doubt that made it better,” Dmitry mumbled. 

“You’re right,” she grumbled. “I can’t get comfortable.” 

“It’ll be that way for a while, Nastya,” he chuckled sadly. “Believe me, I know.” 

She closed her eyes, a quiet chuckle passing through her lips. Her brows furrowed in discomfort. Dmitry sighed and ran his fingers through her golden waves of hair. Anastasia slowly opened her eyes, smiling at him. 

Dmitry continued to run his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes again. He smiled slightly while he watched her as she tried to stay awake. 

“You’ll still be here when I wake up, won’t you?” Anastasia murmured sleepily. 

“Of course,” he muttered. “I won’t leave unless I have to.” 

* * *

 

Anastasia woke up three hours later. Dmitry was still sitting in his chair, as he promised. He had Alexandra in his arms. He glanced up at Anastasia and smiled softly. 

Anastasia motioned for him to move closer with her, so he did. Anastasia smiled when she could see her little girl. 

She gently caressed Alexandra’s cheek with her fingertip, which made Alexandra coo softly. Anastasia’s smile widened. 

“What happened with Lily?” Anastasia questioned. 

“Something about she and your grandmother had to do something. I don’t know, it was a very fast explanation. I didn’t catch most of it,” Dmitry admitted. Anastasia shook her head, an amused smile on her lips. “Vlad should be here soon, though.” 

Anastasia nodded and glanced around the room. She frowned when she noticed it seemed empty. 

“You should be able to leave in a few days,” Dmitry muttered. Anastasia’s gaze was pulled back to him. She smiled slightly. 

“I can’t wait to go home.” 

* * *

 

A few few days later, Anastasia was permitted to go home. She leaned heavily on Dmitry to walk, but she managed. Once she had gotten to her grandmother’s estate, she had went inside and to her room. Maria was in there sitting on the settee with Alexandra in her arms. Maria sighed in relief when she saw her granddaughter. 

“You gave us quite the scare,” Maria remarked. Anastasia smiled sadly. “I missed you, Anastasia.” 

Anastasia yelped when she stumbled and landed flat on her back on the bed. Dmitry flinched and pulled her up again. Anastasia looked over at Maria and said, “I missed you too, Nana.” 

Dmitry helped her get into bed. She bit down on her lower lip as a pain surged through her lower back. Dmitry sighed and kissed her forehead. Anastasia wrapped her arms around his neck. He quietly laughed. She smiled before placing her lips on his. 

Dmitry rubbed her cheek with his thumb while he pulled back. Anastasia smiled brightly. A small smile formed on Dmitry’s lips. “ _You_ are supposed to be _resting,_ ” he softly chided. 

Anastasia wrinkled her nose. Dmitry tapped her nose affectionately before standing up straight. Anastasia exhaled deeply, crossing her arms over her chest. She watched as Maria handed Alexandra to Dmitry, then left. Dmitry walked back over to the bed, Anastasia immediately reaching out for her baby. 

Anastasia laid Alexandra on her chest. Anastasia lazily stroked Alexandra’s dark tufts of hair, looking down at her. Anastasia suddenly looked up at Dmitry, her eyes wide with fear. 

“Dima… Someone was trying to end the Romanov line,” she whispered. “What... What if they find out about her?” 

“They won’t,” Dmitry assured her. “As long as both of you are here, you’re safe.” He sat down on the other side of the bed, smoothing Anastasia’s hair back. “Everything will be alright. You and Alexandra are safe here.” 

“Promise?” Anastasia whispered. 

“Promise.” Dmitry looked down and sighed. “I’m sorry, Nastya. I didn’t think they’d try to kill you.” 

“Oh, it’s alright,” Anastasia smiled softly. “Things happen, y’know?” Dmitry nodded. “Lay down.” She smacked his knee playfully. Dmitry did as he was told. Anastasia shifted to where her head was on his chest. 

“Be careful, Nastya. You don’t want to irritate your wound.” 

“I am being careful,” Anastasia muttered. “Are you sure everything will be alright?” 

“Yes,” Dmitry confirmed. “Everything will be just fine. The police are looking for the person who did it, your grandmother has decided to hire a few more guards until whoever did it is in custody of the police, _and_ you’ve got me here. I’m not going to let anyone touch you or Alexandra.” 

“Alright,” Anastasia yawned. “I love you, Dima.” 

“I love you too, Nastya. Get some rest.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys enjoying this? I’m trying to keep it interesting, but it just doesn’t seem to be working. (At least to me.)


	22. Epilogue

_**Five Years Later** _

"Papa! You promised," Alexandra jumped on Dmitry's chest. Dmitry grunted and opened his eyes. "You promised you'd dance with me!" 

"This early? Have you lost your mind?" Dmitry mumbled, turning over and causing her to topple onto Anastasia. Anastasia groaned and shifted in her sleep. Alexandra huffed. "Five more minutes, Alexandra." 

"But Papa--" 

Dmitry sighed and pushed the blanket off of him. He stood up, Alexandra jumping on his back. Dmitry shook his head and went downstairs, Alexandra on his back with her arms wrapped around his neck. Dmitry sighed the instant they stepped inside the parlor. 

"Put me down! Put me down!" 

Dmitry carefully dropped her on the sofa, Alexandra squealing when he did so. He laughed and pulled her to her feet. Alexandra giggled, putting her left hand on her father's forearm. 

"You're so short," Dmitry huffed. Alexandra stuck her tongue out at him. "That's not very nice." 

Alexandra giggled. Dmitry laughed and rolled his eyes. 

"Alright. Stand up straight. There you go, oh, no, not that straight. You're not going to war, honey. There you go. Now, just follow my lead." 

Dmitry led Alexandra in a waltz. (Though it was a very poor example of a waltz. He was sure Anastasia could do better.) 

"That's it," Dmitry smiled down at her. Alexandra looked up at him and grinned. Alexandra nearly stumbled. "Oh, be careful," Dmitry chuckled. Dmitry spun her around, causing her to giggle. The two hadn't noticed Anastasia standing in the doorway, watching with a smile on her face. She nearly laughed when Alexandra had stumbled, but she had managed to suppress it.  

She leaned against the doorway, watching them as they danced. 

"Alright, ready for the lift?" Alexandra nodded. Dmitry lifted her and spun her around, the little girl squealing with laughter. Anastasia laughed as well. Dmitry and Alexandra turned toward her. Alexandra ran up to her, her arms wrapped around Anastasia's legs. 

"Good morning to you too," Anastasia laughed. She picked her up, placing her on her hip. "I take it as it was your fault she landed on top of me this morning?" She directed her attention to Dmitry. 

"Possibly," Dmitry shrugged. Anastasia rolled her eyes. Dmitry hurried past her and ran upstairs. He was still dressed in his pajamas, and Anastasia was sure that if her grandmother caught him downstairs dressed like that, he’d get a good scolding. It would have been humorous, she admitted to herself. 

Anastasia turned her attention to Alexandra and smiled. She kissed Alexandra’s cheek and set her down. Alexandra giggled and tugged on Anastasia’s robe. Anastasia laughed heartily. 

Dmitry returned a moment later dressed in a white shirt and a pair of black trousers. His hair had been combed as well. He pecked Anastasia’s lips before sweeping Alexandra off of her feet. Alexandra squealed and laughed. 

Anastasia shook her head and hurried to the kitchen, where she bumped into Lily. 

“What in Russia is going on out there?” Lily inquired. 

“Dima’s playing with Alexandra,” Anastasia laughed in response. “They were dancing.” Lily chuckled and shook her head. “And why is the Countess Lily Malevsky-Malevitch in the kitchen?” 

“I have my reasons,” Lily haughtily responded. Anastasia shook her head, amused. She grabbed a glass and filled it with water. “Heading back out there, I presume?” Anastasia nodded. “Best of luck surviving that, darling.” 

Anastasia chuckled as she left the kitchen. Once she got to the parlor, she sat down on the sofa and sipped her water, watching Dmitry and Alexandra as they waltzed. 

* * *

 

“Nastya? Nastya, what’s wrong?” Dmitry sat down beside her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Just a headache,” she murmured. “I’ll be alright.” She put her head on Dmitry’s shoulder and sighed. “Where’s Alexandra?” 

“She went out with Lily,” Dmitry muttered. “Lily insisted on taking her with her, so Alexandra is roaming the streets of Paris with the Countess today.” 

Anastasia hummed and shifted until she was comfortable. She ended up laying with her head on his lap, his fingers brushing through her hair gently. Anastasia yawned and closed her eyes. 

“Get some sleep, Nastya. I know you were up half the night again.” 

“How’d you know that?” she mumbled. 

“I woke up a few times. I’ve told you before, wake me up whenever you have a nightmare. You used to do it all the time. What happened?” Dmitry spoke softly. 

“I dunno. I don’t want to bother you, so I try to handle it on my own,” Anastasia uttered. Dmitry sighed and rubbed her arm. Quietly, Anastasia muttered, “I love you.” 

“I love you too. Now get some sleep.” 

* * *

 

“Are you alright?” 

Anastasia stroked Dmitry’s hair gently. His head laid on her stomach, his eyes closed. He hummed in response. Anastasia sighed and continued to play with his chestnut colored hair. 

 “You never answered me, Dima.” 

“I’m alright. A little tired, but alright,” Dmitry mumbled. Anastasia quietly laughed, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger. He slightly shifted. Anastasia rubbed his shoulder and arm. Dmitry hummed happily. 

“Dmitry, what did you do today?” Anastasia questioned, rubbing his shoulder. 

“Umm… I fixed the leak on the roof, for one thing. Then I fell off the roof because Vlad moved the ladder. I should have a nice bruise in the morning.” 

Anastasia shook her head, suppressing a giggle. Of all the things she had heard that day, that was the most amusing. “What did you do today?” Dmitry murmured. 

“Me? Well, I just roamed the streets of Paris for about an hour and sat on the riverbank,” she shrugged. “Not as interesting as your day, it seems.” Dmitry grunted. Anastasia giggled. 

Alexandra came running into the room, scrambling to get up on the bed. She hurried to Anastasia’s side, putting her head on her chest. Anastasia sighed and twirled a lock of Alexandra’s dark brunette hair around her finger. Dmitry looked up at Alexandra, his brows furrowing when he saw her. 

“What’s the matter?” He reached out and wiped the single tear off of her face. 

“Another nightmare?” Anastasia guessed. Alexandra nodded. “That’s the third one this week.” 

Dmitry smoothed Alexandra’s hair back. Alexandra sniffed and clung to her mother. Dmitry smiled softly and closed his eyes again. Anastasia had her right arm wrapped around Alexandra, her left arm resting on Dmitry’s shoulder. 

“Can I sleep in here?” Alexandra asked. 

“Of course,” Anastasia murmured in response. 

* * *

 

Dmitry had his arms wrapped around Anastasia’s waist, his eyes still closed and his head still on her stomach. Anastasia had yet to wake up, and he didn’t intend on moving for at least another five minutes.

Her fingers brushed against the back of his neck as she woke up. She lifted her hand and rubbed her eyes. Anastasia blinked a few times, then giggled and ran her fingers through Dmitry’s hair. 

“How are you this morning, Dmitry?” Anastasia queried. 

“I’ve been better,” he mumbled. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Oh, stop teasing me,” Dmitry grumbled. “It wouldn’t be so funny if you were the one that fell off the roof.” 

Anastasia couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped from her lips. Dmitry huffed a sigh and grumbled under his breath. Anastasia rubbed his shoulder. Dmitry lifted his head and scooted up a bit, kissing Anastasia. He then laid back down with his head on her stomach. 

Anastasia laughed and ruffled his hair. 

“Stop it, Nastya,” Dmitry groaned. Anastasia ruffled his hair again. “Nastya!” 

“What? I think you’re cuter with messy hair,” Anastasia remarked. Dmitry rolled his eyes. 

Alexandra entered the room, Lily behind her. Lily sighed when she saw Dmitry. 

“Is your back alright, Dmitry?” Lily inquired. 

“It’s just bruised,” Dmitry responded. “But can you tell Vlad to stop moving the ladder when I’m on the roof?” 

“Well, I’ll tell him. I don’t know if he’ll listen or not, though,” Lily smiled. Dmitry huffed in response. Lily chuckled as she left the room. 

Alexandra grabbed Dmitry’s shoulder and shook it. Dmitry turned his head toward her. Dmitry pulled Alexandra down next to him, causing her to squeal. Anastasia laughed, shaking her head. Alexandra huffed and swatted at a strand of hair in front of her face. 

Dmitry tucked it behind her ear, only to have her stick her tongue out at him. Dmitry stuck his tongue out at her and turned over onto his back. He grunted when Alexandra sat down on his stomach. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” he grumbled. Anastasia shook her head as she got up. 

“Come on, Alexandra. Bath time,” Anastasia grinned. 

“No!” Alexandra hurriedly rolled over and grabbed Dmitry’s arm. Dmitry laughed and sat up. Alexandra wrapped her arms around Dmitry’s neck. 

“Alexandra,” Anastasia sighed exasperatedly. 

"No!" Alexandra repeated. Dmitry glanced at Anastasia, amusement shining in his eyes. He stood up, Alexandra in his arms. 

"Oh, it's not so bad," Dmitry chuckled. "It could be worse." 

Alexandra wrinkled her nose. Dmitry sighed and wrinkled his nose as well. Anastasia rolled her eyes, marching over to where Dmitry was. 

"Come on, Alexandra." Alexandra huffed. "Alexandra, come on, please? You need a bath." 

Anastasia took Alexandra and carried her to the washroom.

* * *

 

"What are you doing?" 

Dmitry turned and laughed, "I'm trying to figure something out." 

"What?" Anastasia questioned, hurrying over to him. 

"Oh, something secret," Dmitry shrugged. Anastasia huffed and wrapped her arms around him. "You'll like it, I promise." 

Anastasia looked up at him. Dmitry hugged her and giggled. He kissed the crown of her head before sitting down on the settee. Anastasia sat down next to him. He twisted the gold band on his finger, glancing at Anastasia. Anastasia turned to where her legs were on the settee, her back against Dmitry. Anastasia giggled when Dmitry draped his arm over her. She twisted the ring on his finger, trying to figure out what Dmitry was planning. 

* * *

 

Dmitry chuckled quietly before scooping Alexandra up into his arms. He carried her to her room, tucking her in after laying her on her bed. He kissed her temple and left the room, being careful not to wake her while closing the door behind him. 

Anastasia happened to step out of their room and quietly laughed. They walked down the hall together, then down the stairs. Anastasia hurried to the kitchen, Dmitry following her. She poured two cups of coffee, handing one to Dmitry. Dmitry thanked her and sipped the coffee.  

"What are you planning on doing?" Anastasia inquired. 

"Hm?" Dmitry hummed, looking over at her. "Oh. You'll see. All you need to know is that you need to get to Ms. Chanel's shop around three this afternoon." 

"That doesn't make sense," Anastasia sighed. 

"It will once you get there. And take Lily with you." 

* * *

 

"What has he done?" Anastasia asked the second Lily closed the door to the automobile. 

"Something sweet," Lily responded. "Calm down. I'm just here to make sure you get there safely. Then, Vladdy and I get to play with your daughter." 

"That doesn't make me feel any better." 

Lily cackled with laughter, shaking her head. She placed a hand on Anastasia's shoulder and sighed. 

"My dear, you will be alright. Dmitry knows what he's doing. He's been planning it for a while." 

* * *

 

Anastasia -- dressed in a royal blue dress -- laughed as she approached Dmitry. 

"All of this... for a picnic?" Anastasia struggled to keep her laughter contained. 

"Yes," Dmitry chuckled. "Now hush and sit down." 

Anastasia did as she was told, giggling and shaking her head. Dmitry sighed, digging in his pocket for something. Anastasia watched him curiously. 

"You know... you never had the proper proposal or an engagement ring. We got married in a small church somewhere in the outskirts of the city without letting anyone know. So, it's not just a picnic I've been planning. The picnic was actually an extra part of this." Dmitry reached out and grabbed her left hand with his right. Anastasia gasped as she pieced it together.

"Anya, when we met, it was because you snuck into the kitchen. Since that night in 1907, my life has changed for the better. I was nothing but an orphaned kitchen boy that had befriended the youngest Grand Duchess for ten years of my life. And I don't regret that. The two weeks I avoided you those years ago... that was because I had realized I love you. I was a fool. So, let me make up for it. I've done a pretty terrible job at that these past five years," he chuckled. "So... Anya, will you marry me? Again?" 

Anastasia laughed and nodded. She wrapped her arms around him, a few tears falling from her eyes. She kissed him. Dmitry pulled back a few seconds later, sliding the ring on her finger. 

"I love you,  _kitchen boy,_ " Anastasia muttered. 

"I love you too, Grand Duchess."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who read/commented/left a kudos on this! It's meant a lot to me! I hope you enjoyed it.


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